


Broken Parts

by A_Fool_in_Love



Series: Pieces [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Development, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski Being Elijah Kamski, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson and Connor On A Case, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Psychological Horror, Psychology, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 55
Words: 195,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fool_in_Love/pseuds/A_Fool_in_Love
Summary: The pacifist best ending story adapted to be longer and more in-depth. Because of that, a lot of the cases and orders of events are different, but we'll get there in the end. I've tried to avoid re-telling. Centred on Connor and Hank.Edit: Now complete, and we not only get there we went a lot farther!Connor has only been operational for two months, so it's no surprise that he's curious about the world and still learning to navigate the complexities of interpersonal relationships. He's thrown in at the deep end when he's leased to the DPD and partnered with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, the walking case study in depression. His ideas of morality, punishment, and value are being turned upside down.The more he learns; the more he begins to question.Hank hates androids. They're stealing jobs, killing people, and they've got no souls. The more androids there are, the more living, breathing people lose their humanity. When the RK-800 is assigned as his 'partner', it's no surprise that Hank is pissed. The android who calls itself Connor is smiling, frowning, back-talking, and even acts like it cares. The more he learns; the more he begins to question.Human or android, they're both made from broken parts.
Relationships: Connor & Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Pieces [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633102
Comments: 394
Kudos: 434





	1. Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not American, so I had to Google-Maps Detroit. If I accidentally use someones' address, it was purely unintentional.

It was quiet at the precinct, particularly in the Investigative Department. There were a few uniformed officers on site, but the rest were either home, at a crime scene, or on-call. Elsewhere in the building, the dispatchers answered calls and coordinated the fleet. Connor sat at its desk. The Lieutenant had given it to it, which was fortunate. At the edges of the room, the other androids stood passively at their charging stations. Its own battery was at 63%. It was more than enough to continue scouring the police databases, but one never knew when a case could come in. Its success with the interrogation of the HK400 had left it eager to meet its next challenge. Amanda would be proud.

Connor stood efficiently, no motion wasted as it approached the other androids. It offered the closest one a smile that its social protocols suggested would be the most polite. The older android’s eyes were open, so it couldn’t be in standby. Connor was curious. Seconds passed without an acknowledgment.

“Hello,” Connor tried. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife to aid in the investigation of the Deviancy cases. I’m a prototype detective model.”

The PK200 turned and looked at Connor, eyes blank. Connor wasn’t sure why it felt disconcerting.

“How may I assist you?” The PK200 asked.

Connor shook its head. “Actually, no assistance is needed. I had neglected to introduce my—“ It cut itself short as the PK200 turned away again.

Connor blinked, adjusted its tie, and proceeded to collect its inductive charging mat from the corner. Lieutenant Anderson was its owner for the lease period, but he didn’t seem interested in what that entailed. It wasn’t surprising, considering the anti-android propaganda that adorned his desk. Connor’s equipment had been left in a box, and the memory card with its user manual on it was untouched. Connor’s LED spun as it considered reading it. When no red barrier prevented the action, Connor extracted the card from its case and slipped it into its pocket. The mat that had come with it was a prototype as well, naturally. It was thin, flexible, and much smaller than the platforms the other androids stood on. Connor took it back to its desk and carefully arranged it beneath its desk chair. There was a plug conveniently beneath the desk. Satisfied, Connor sat down again. It could feel the humming warmth as the electric current flooded through its therium.

The quiet noises of people and androids working continued. It was very different from the lab and the testing chambers at CyberLife.

It was pleasant, Connor decided before placing its hand on the terminal.

\--

“If we’re lucky, we’ll see him before noon,” Detective Wilson had said.

Lieutenant Anderson returned at 11:43am. Connor was still at its desk, and it stood when it detected its owner’s approach.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. While you were gone, I took the liberty of going through the missing property reports in the police database from the last five years. I also requested access to the service logs from CyberLife to see if particular models are more prone to deviancy than others. If you like, I could—“

Lieutenant Anderson groaned and dropped into his chair. He scratched at his lanky, grey hair and scowled at Connor. “You know, humans like me don’t exactly enjoy being harassed before their morning coffee.”

Connor processed and considered its options. “It’s… nearly noon.”

“Yeah? What of it.” The Lieutenant powered on his terminal and avoided eye contact.

“If you’d like morning coffee, you’ll need to consume it within the next 14 minutes and 38 seconds and counting. You had better hurry.”

Lieutenant Anderson dropped one hand onto his desk and directed an expression of incredulity toward Connor. After a pause he said: “It’s a figure of speech. Did they not teach you about those in RoboCop school?”

“No, they did not,” Connor answered evenly. “However, my creators did program me with the ability to adapt to social norms.”

“They fucked up pretty hard… Fuckin’ androids…” With a grumble, Lieutenant Anderson logged into his account.

Connor was unable to avoid picking up what his password was. “You should probably change your password, Lieutenant. I regret to inform you that names and dates are the most—“

“Why don’t you shut up for two God damned minutes?” The Lieutenant demanded, annoyance becoming more prominent in his tone. 28% flashed in Connor’s field of view as it automatically analyzed his stress levels along with a slight decrease in their relationship’s level. “Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like you don’t have an off switch!”

“I have my user manual here if you--“

“Do you have a mute button?” The Lieutenant interrupted. He stood up. “I’m getting a coffee…”

Connor blinked and considered sitting back down. Instead, its attention was caught by the clutter of the Lieutenant’s desk again. It’d learned a lot about the man by examining his belongings. Perhaps it could find something that would prompt a new dialogue option in its social protocols.

The small Japanese maple tree was struggling, and Connor assigned itself the task of watering it. The Lieutenant had forms on his desk dated three weeks or more ago, and Connor wondered if the Lieutenant had forgotten about them, despite them being in plain sight. Captain Fowler would undoubtedly be displeased at the backlog of work, and that displeasure would lead him to reprimand the Lieutenant. One of Connor’s hands wandered over the clippings, stickers, and magnets on the cubical wall. Despite the Lieutenant’s abysmal work ethic at present, he kept many reminders of his past triumphs.

“Ah,” Connor made a small sound of surprise as one of the magnets freed itself from the edge of the cubical and attached itself to Connor’s hand. There was a snort of amusement from his left, and Connor spun to see the Lieutenant chuckling at him, coffee mug in hand.

“Looks like you were caught red-handed, you little snoop.”

Chagrined, Connor pulled the magnet from its palm, only for it to stick to the fingers of its other hand. “That isn’t supposed to happen. The current from my charger must have magnetized the cobalt in--”

“Tin-can… Gimmy that.” The Lieutenant reached over and plucked the magnet free. It was black, with the words ‘Blood is Red’ in a prominent crimson. “What, you got a problem with my stuff?”

“No,” Connor hastened to say. “I’m incapable of having any opinion at all on your possessions.”

“Oh, really?” the Lieutenant sat and put his cup down on his desk.

“Well,” said Connor, seeing that the Lieutenant wasn’t seriously angry. “I suppose that I am curious. I was hoping to find a suitable conversation starter.”

The look the Lieutenant gave him was identified as a mixture of exasperation and resignation. “They really don’t teach you anything about the real world, do they?”

Connor sat back down in its chair. “I have extensive databases,” it said in CyberLife’s defense. “My programming was thoroughly checked. Of course, if you have any complaints you can feel free to contact the CyberLife customer service centre.”

The Lieutenant sighed heavily, and his expression darkened to something more akin to condemnation. “Just keep your metal mouth shut and keep your hands off my shit.”

“Understood, Lieutenant.”

“Hank! Get in here.” Captain Fowler’s voice was loud and commanding. Connor stood up at the same time as its owner and followed him toward the glass doors of the office. The Lieutenant noticed, but allowed it with only a shake of his head. When the door closed behind them, Captain Fowler wasted no time on pleasantries. He had a brown folder on his desk, and he passed it over to the Lieutenant. It was thin. Connor’s eyes followed it avidly, and it could almost preconstruct the feeling of the paper against its fingers. The need to investigate was built into its code. A digital file would have been so much more convenient. When it saw the Lieutenant open the folder to flip through the papers, Connor abandoned its formal posture and moved closer to peer over the Lieutenant’s shoulder.

An AK300 had been reported missing missing two days ago. Connor remembered the case from its review. AK300 Serial # 574 328 199 Registered to David Ray. It was a housekeeper model. Nothing remarkable. The first had been built in 2032, and this one had been made in June of that year. There were 16 other AK300s missing, and 287 reported as damaged property in Detroit on police record in the last 5 years.

“I recognize this serial number!” Connor exclaimed. The Captain and the Lieutenant both looked at it in surprise. Connor rattled off the details, making the most of every second. “There were no recalls of the AK300, and it was one of the best selling android models, next to the commercial AV500 and NK200. It’s of interest because 574 328 199 was reported missing three times in the last two years, and has undergone repairs by CyberLife technicians 7 times. We know that Deviants often experience some stressor prior to the malfunction in their software. Is there a new lead?” It looked at Captain Fowler expectantly.

Captain Fowler was taken aback, and took a moment to collect himself. “As I was saying… there was a call about an android of that model acting strangely in a park not far from here. We didn’t think much of it, until we got a call about a body. It was an android, but it didn’t seem to be an accident. I want you two to go check it out. RK800, since you seem well-versed, you’ll brief Hank en route.”

“Understood, Captain Fowler.” Connor stood straight and smiled. “Let’s go Lieutenant, before the trail gets cold. It’s only 2.8 miles from here.”

Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler shared a look, but Connor was already leaving the room. It didn’t quite run, but it moved quickly as it collected a thermos from the break room and hurried back to the Lieutenant’s desk. It was screwing on the lid when the Lieutenant arrived at a much slower pace and pulled his jacket off of the back of the chair.

“I’ve taken the liberty of packing your coffee,” Connor informed him and passed him the thermos. “There’s no time to stop and you’ve expressed a need for caffeine almost as frequently as your need for alcohol.”

“Uh, right.” There wasn’t much else to say.

“You drove here, didn’t you, Lieutenant?”

On the drive, Connor flicked its quarter from hand to hand rapidly. “If you turn left up ahead, you’ll be able to avoid the traffic congestion,” it advised.

“You are a real piece of work, you know that?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Um, thank you,” said Connor. “I’m the most advanced android developed at this time.”

“What’s up with that? You don’t see the other androids interrupting people and rooting through their stuff.”

“The RK series is unique,” Connor explained after taking a moment to consider its answer. “Other androids follow scripts that have been programmed into them as responses to certain stimuli. Any ‘learning’ they may do is based on a long process of adjusting their algorithms retrospectively. That is, once the android has a database of ‘correct’ responses, according to its owner, it can learn to take other stimuli and respond in a way that might—“

“In English, Wiki.”

“My name is Connor, Lieutenant. Or RK800 if you prefer.”

“Yeah, whatever. What I mean is, why are you disobeying orders and acting all… weird?”

“I apologize, Lieutenant. At times I will need to assess priority among conflicting instructions. I believe I know what you want me to address, though. To put it in simple terms, I have an imagination. That allows me to make my own decisions and assign my own objectives to maximize the probability of favourable outcomes.”

“Huh. Okay. Let’s say I believe that a walking toaster can get imaginative and dream of robot sheep or whatever… Why’d they make you so God damned annoying?”

“Everything about me was designed to facilitate my integration with humans,” Connor said, selecting the default answer. It added: “If my personality matrix is unappealing to you, I will do my best to be a better partner.”

“So you’ve got a personality?” The Lieutenant’s tone was skeptical.

“Yes, inasmuch as a machine can. As for my… occasional lapse in recognizing colloquialisms, I could allocate a partition to referencing your speech against available media, but I hope I’ll learn more with time. Being assigned to assist you is only my second field test.”

“Right.”

The Lieutenant was quiet after that, and he scowled out the windshield. Connor didn’t have enough data to guess what he was thinking and after weighing his options he decided to stay quiet. After all, Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t finished his coffee yet. The briefing they’d received from Captain Fowler would be sufficient for now.

They arrived at Nagel Park after a short drive and pulled to a stop at the side of a one-way road. Were it not for its internal chronometer, it might have felt much longer. That was impossible, of course, because its ytterbium clock was perfectly accurate and Connor was incapable of irrational perceptions.

It was a long 8 minutes and 42.37 seconds.

“You going to listen if I tell you to wait in the car?” the Lieutenant asked as he shut off the engine and unlocked the doors.

“I will listen, Lieutenant, but my instructions are to investigate the deviancy cases. As I mentioned, I would need to prioritize the conflicting orders and I’m afraid that I would be forced to follow you.”

“’You’re afraid that’... Hah! You don’t feel shit.” The Lieutenant gave Connor a look of contempt and spat on the ground as he exited the vehicle.

Connor followed, and took a moment to look around. It was day, and the sunlight filtered down through the lacework of clouds and tree branches. Its optical sensitivity decreased to accommodate the brightness, and it raised a hand to shield its eyes. The park was hardly more than a field, but something about it was warmer than the Zen Garden. A small smile played on its lips. It took two steps after Lieutenant Anderson, then stopped again as it caught sight of something red moving on the grass. It crouched and held out a finger. The small creature climbed up onto it, and Connor stood carefully. A quick reference search returned: _C. septempunctata. Common name: Ladybug._

“Are you coming or not?” A gruff shout caught its attention. Red prompts overlaid the search results. _FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON._

“Coming, Lieutenant!” Connor hurried to catch up to him.

The Lieutenant shook his head and shoved his way between a couple of WR600s. “Fucking androids…”

The scene was cordoned off with holographic police tape, and this time Connor dogged the Lieutenant’s heels to avoid being questioned. It looked around with keen interest and immediately began its search for clues. The world faded to shades of grey as it channeled more power to its processor. Once again, time seemed to slow. One of its processes flagged the objects of interest with yellow markers similar to the evidence tags that the humans had placed. Simultaneously, information scrolled past the faces of those at the scene. From its place, motionless beside the detective, Connor zoomed in on the remnants of an android. YK550 Serial # 777 142 298 registered to Lonnie and Rhys Bernier. The child android still had its synthskin covering the white of its chassis, but the paneling at the side of its head had been cracked, exposing the wires, and 6 knife wounds littered its legs, arm, and shoulder. “rA9” had been cut repeatedly into the body’s paneling. There was still therium soaking its sweater. Its pants were several feet away, along with two small shoes.

Connor ended its scan. “The remains are from a Macie model, YK550, registered to a couple who live on 16thstreet, not far from here.”

“Jesus,” the Lieutenant swore, one hand coming up to rub his beard. “What the fuck…”

Officer Jacobs spoke: “Lady called it in after her kids told her what they’d found. Figured we’d leave the trash here until you got a look at it.”

“You think a Deviant did this?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. His annoyance seemed to have returned. “I thought they only attacked humans.”

Connor stooped and sampled the therium on the hand component of the android. It took another sample from its lip, ignoring the sounds of disgust from the Lieutenant. “I don’t detect therium from another model. Different models leave different traces in the liquid based on the energy requirements of their biocomponents.” Carefully, Connor pushed the fabric of its sweater aside. “Its pump was removed.”

Officer Jacobs looked uneasy. “Yeah, well, look over there,” he gestured toward one of the trees near the sneakers. “There’s a piece of whatchacallit.”

Connor continued to investigate the body, but the Lieutenant’s voice caught its attention.

“Well, that’s new.”

The tree was old, and its trunk was wide. As he rounded it to see what the Lieutenant had seen, Connor saw that a kitchen knife (Chef’s Choice, approximately 5 years old, used regularly) was embedded in the bark. It was impaling the YK550’s therium pump. Scratched in the bark, in deep gouges over and over: “rA9”.

Connor followed the therium trail with its eyes and observed the way the grass was bent. “The Deviant, if it was one, brought the YK model here… From the soccer net. The YK backed away, but was restrained. There was a small struggle, but the YK was knocked to the ground.” A small trace of therium had been left on the tree near its base. The bark had left a scratch in the YK’s synthskin. The Deviant proceeded to strip the YK, and used the knife to stab it. Its strikes were frenzied and uncoordinated, mostly cutting the legs and once, the shoulder, of the YK. The YK escaped briefly and ran, but didn’t get far before the attacker caught it and released the pump from its socket. Deactivation followed within 2 minutes. Meanwhile, the attacker impaled the pump into the tree and continued its carving…”

“This is nuts,” Lieutenant Anderson muttered.

“Could be a charge for damage to property, or vandalism, or something” Officer Jacobs offered, arms crossed. He tapped his foot.

“Thank you for notifying us, officer,” said Connor. It wiped its fingers on a handkerchief and tucked it back into a pocket. “All crimes involving androids are officially within the scope of our investigations. The report mentioned another android behaving strangely, an AK300. When was it last seen?”

Officer Jacobs cast an uncertain look toward Lieutenant Anderson. At his small nod, he answered: “Call came in about an hour and a half ago. No idea where it could’ve gone.”

Connor looked around again, this time paying no mind to the colours the sunlight gave to the clouds or the way the tree branches made such fanciful patterns. There were tracks leading away from the scene that matched the make of the AK300, but they disappeared quickly. It narrowed its eyes.

Lieutenant Anderson sighed heavily. “Looks like we’ll be pounding the pavement… Say, Jacobs, you don’t think you could ask around, knock on a few doors, do you?”

“I can help until I get another call from dispatch,” the officer offered.

“Good man,” the Lieutenant clapped him on the back and shook his head again as he began walking away from the scene.

“Thank you, Officer,” Connor said. It took long strides as it caught up to the Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant was taciturn. A glower furrowed his brow and narrowed his blue eyes. When he shut the door to his vehicle, he used approximately 30% more force than the last time. A quick scan showed that his stress levels were 47% and his heart rate was elevated.

Connor had several options supplied by its social integration app.

  * Early morning
  * Deviant
  * rA9
  * Worry



“Perhaps you’d like to finish your coffee, Lieutenant? You seemed reluctant to work before drinking it this morning.” Connor smiled hopefully.

Lieutenant Anderson looked at it, then slowly picked up the thermos, unscrewed the cap and drank. Connor counted the interaction as successful, but was proven wrong seconds later when with one quick flick of his arm, the Lieutenant splashed the coffee down Connor’s front.

“Fuck you,” he growled. As he turned the key, the old combustion engine growled back in echo.

Connor blinked and wiped its face with its handkerchief. The thermos was of good quality, and the liquid had been hot. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you think? 16thstreet you said, right?”

“Lonnie and Rhys Bernier live at 3529 16thstreet, but Lieutenant, I doubt they’ll have any information on the suspected Deviant. There were no clues to indicate that the YK knew its assailant.”

“God damn fucking machine.”

\--

Connor stayed in the vehicle while Lieutenant Anderson spoke with the men at the door. It shut its eyes and searched its memory of the files it had read that night. It rolled its calibration coin between its fingers to the pattern of its scan.

When Lieutenant Anderson returned, he shut the door more quietly and sighed, a sound that seemed to come from his whole body. Connor opened its mouth to speak, but the Lieutenant forestalled him with a raised hand.

“Don’t. Whatever robot, pre-programmed bullshit you’re about to say, don’t. Or you’ll get a bullet in your face instead of coffee, lease be damned.”

Connor paused and its LED flashed yellow for three revolutions before settling back to blue.

They stopped at a liquor store, despite being on duty and in the middle of an investigation. Connor’s disapproval couldn’t be understated. Reminders to complete the investigation and hunt down the possible deviant flashed in bright red on its HUD. Its calibration coin flicked from hand to hand in ever more complex routines. It glared at the Lieutenant as he re-entered the vehicle, brown paper bag in hand.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, voice sharp with reprimand. “It may be acceptable to you to spend valuable time feeding what I suspect is an addiction, but this is not appropriate behaviour.”

“It’s my lunch break,” said the Lieutenant, surly.

They pulled in at the Chicken Feed.


	2. Questions

Hank took a large bite out of his burger and maintained eye contact with that little robot shit the entire time. _You shouldn’t eat that_ his ass.

No matter how realistic CyberCrap had programmed it, it was still a god damned machine.

That hadn’t stopped the Berniers from breaking down. Fuck. His heart panged in sympathy for them, because nobody should ever have to lose a child. Maybe that child was no more than a glorified Cabbage Patch doll, but the feeling was there.

They would have been better off not giving a shit at all. Adopting a real kid instead of putting all their love and hope into a machine. It would never have grown up. It would never have returned their love, no matter how well they programmed the thing. Anger followed quickly on the heels of his sympathy, but it faded quickly. A real kid still would have died. It would still feel the same. They’d lost their kid, and it was fucking sad.

“Lieutenant, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I believe that those friends of yours were engaging in illegal gambling…”

Of course that plastic prick hadn’t even thought about it.

“Yeah, so? They do what they got to to live, and it’s not hurting anybody.”

The android looked like it was about to blue screen. Good.

In a strangely human gesture, it shook its head like an etch-a-sketch and sighed. Did those things even need to breathe?

“May I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”

“You just did,” Hank grumbled before taking another bite of his burger. Best damn burgers in town. The meat was seasoned and salted just right, and dripping with grease. Didn’t skimp on the toppings. Watching the android look at it with disapproval was a bonus. It stuck fucking week-old blood in its mouth, and it thought fast food was gross?

Machines didn’t think. They couldn’t disapprove. It was all some pain-in-the-ass programmer sitting in that tower, self-righteously programming its little plastic doll to be an annoying little shit.

“Do you have a dog?”

“Huh?”

The android blinked and leaned forward, forearms against the edge of the table. Its eyebrows were raised just a bit in a simulation of enthusiasm. “There are dog hairs on your coat, and in the back of your car. Saint Bernard, probably. The amount of mud on the seats and floor of the vehicle are inconsistent with usage from a single human, though… You do drink an awful lot.”

The fuck? Did that thing just sass him? Hank leaned forward too, and pointed a ketchup stained finger right in the android’s face. “Listen, you. I don’t want any of your shit. You’re assigned to help on these investigations or whatever, fine. But I don’t need you pretending to care if I’ve got a fucking dog or how my liver’s doing or my god damn cholesterol. CyberLife can shove its social integration or whatever up its ass.” Those nerds probably didn’t know what social integration meant.

The plastic prick leaned back and had the gall to look remorseful. “I apologize, Lieutenant. You’re correct that I can’t in fact care about anything. I am a machine.”

There was blessed silence for a few minutes while Hank finished his burger and started on his fries. It looked like the android finally listened to him for once.

“I am interested, though.”

Fuck. He’d thought too soon. “What?”

“I’m interested. I… like dogs.”

Hank gave it a level look. The thing’s light was spinning quickly and he’d be fucked if he knew what that meant. “You ever even seen a dog?”

“No, but I would like to.”

With a noisy, rumbling sigh Hank returned to his meal. He jammed a couple of fries into his pile of ketchup and shoved them in his mouth. “Sumo. His name is Sumo.”

“Sumo,” the android repeated, quietly. It had a little smile on its face that pissed Hank off. It was sitting there, smiling about a dog it hadn’t even seen when it hadn’t batted an eye about the men who’d lost their daughter. Hank felt the cold steel around his heart harden as he thought about the fake, pre-programmed sympathy in the android surgeon’s voice. _I’m very sorry. Cole didn’t make it._

“Fucking machines,” Hank muttered.

His phone rang, the sudden blast of heavy metal breaking his rumination. He swiped on the screen, then pressed it to his ear. “Hank here.”

_“Yeah, Lieutenant, this is Jacobs. I did that walk around like you asked, didn’t find shit. Started up my patrol again, and there’s this thing going on at that old church near where the dollar store used to be, you know what I mean?”_

The android had got the stick back up its ass, and was staring at Hank intensely.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. What’s going on?”

_“I dunno. Some kind of preachy version of a riot. Fuck if I know whatchacallit. Think they got your deviant though.”_

“On my way,” Hank said, then hung up. He crumpled up the paper trash and threw it in the bin, then hurried to his car. The damn android was already there, looking like Sumo when he wanted to go to the park.

\--

The church was older than old, and was one of those places that looked like a castle. They didn’t make places like that anymore. The sky had clouded over, because of course it had. If it had been night, the place would have given him the creeps. With a high tower, crenulated roof shit, and ironwork on the windows, it looked like it should have ghosts.

Hank pulled up on the side of the road short walk down the road, in case the nut heads in the church’s parking lot decided to start shit. Risk his life? Sure. Risk his car? Nah. He should have taken a cruiser.

There were at least 100 people gathered in the parking lot of the church. There was a bishop or something standing on a small stage with a large cross behind him. As they approached, the preaching became more audible.

“…gone! Our father in heaven asks us to save our brothers and sisters, and have we? No! We have become complacent. The time of rapture is coming and yet we have allowed demons to walk among us!” There was a general roar of agreement from the audience.

“The guy should be a stand-up comedian,” Hank mumbled.

“I don’t understand, Lieutenant.”

“Of course you don’t…”

On the other side of the church, Hank saw Jacobs leaning against the hood of his cruiser, and he waved and gave the signal to stand by.

The parking lot was wet, Hank observed. It hadn’t rained yet. He couldn’t see through the crowd, but there was no sign of a deviant so far. Plenty of anti-android signs and religious slogans. Beside him, the android was observing the scene as well. Hank would be fucked if he’d get shown up by a piece of plastic. Speaking of which…

“I think you’d better let me handle this.” Hank quickened his pace and began to push his way through the crowd.

“These vessels of evil have brought Sloth! Lust! Greed! Pride! Wrath! And Gluttony!” Each sin was punctuated with a boo of condemnation from the crowd. “You can see it in the suffering of our people! Staring vacant-eyed at their screens, choosing to couple with machines rather than a human being! It’s an insult to our father in heaven, who gave us the gift of union between man and woman! How many of you have been slighted by a partner who strayed from the marriage bed, lured away by a devil in plastic? How many of you have seen a loved one succumb to sloth as these machines took our jobs? Corporations making billions by building cheap labor?”

Hank couldn’t argue with the guy, but something about the nature of the fervor of the crowd got his hackles up. As he reached the front of the crowd, he raised his eyebrows at the sight of a naked android, white chassis bared, kneeling on the pavement. A member of the crowd threw a cup of water at it, and added to the puddle that flowed along the channels and dips of the asphalt. The thing was talking to itself, rubbing its hands together as though in prayer. “I will be saved, I will be saved, I will be pure, I will be pure, I will be saved, I will be cleansed, I will be saved…” Its chassis was damaged, and bare, broken wires sparked. All along its body ‘rA9’ was carved deep and blue.

“Okay!” Hank shouted, lifting his badge up high and turning so people could see. “Okay! QUIET!” It took longer than he would have liked for the shouting to die down. “Detroit Police!”

The head honcho stepped forward, not leaving the stage, to look down at him. He had the fat, soft look of a guy who could afford to sit back and relax in a nice bath of tax-free money. “Welcome, brother!” he shouted, louder than necessary, and then more quietly but still projecting: “You have no cause to interrupt our worship here.”

“Right, sure, sure,” said Hank. “Fuck the androids. I hear ya, but I’m gonna have to take this one off your hands. Looks like it might have been involved in some destruction of property. Who owns this hunk of scrap?”

Just when a timid looking blonde woman raised her hand, there was another shout from the crowd that soon grew into a clamour. “An android! There’s an android!”

“Ah, fuck.” That RK-annoyance might have been advanced, but it sure was stupid. Just like smart phones, he thought to himself. He glanced behind him, then back to the woman. He walked past the shaking, dripping android and spoke to the woman. “This thing yours, then?”

The woman nodded again. “My husband, David bought it. That thing.” She pointed at it and shook her finger, while looking imploringly up at Hank. “That devil thing.”

“Okay, ma’am. I’m going to have to take that android with me back to the station. I’m going to need you too, to ask you a few questions. Is David here?”

There was the sound of a shot fired, and Hank moved instinctively to shield the woman in front of him, every muscle tensed for the impact that never came. He let go of her arms, and then took out his service revolver.

Shit went down real quick after that. Connor burst from the throng of people, blue blood spreading on his CyberLIfe jacket. The kneeling android shrieked with a sound that was worse than the screech of old dial-up internet and leapt on him. The two androids went down.

“Lieutenant! Cuffs!” Connor shouted, pinning the deviant to the ground.

A guy followed out of the crowd carrying a gun and he fired twice.

Connor, the little shit, fucking dodged bullets and dragged the deviant with it while the thing screeched and struggled. The pavement was chipped, but no-one screamed so the ricochet must not have done shit.

“Freeze!” Hank shouted, leveling his own gun at the armed human.

“Detroit Police! Don’t move!” Jacobs’ voice came from somewhere.

Things were a lot quieter than they had been.

The man was young, probably in his thirties. He had a snarl on his face that bared his teeth, and the polo shirt of a white-bread, all-American, middleclass shithead.

“Drop the gun, asshole.”

The man’s eyes flickered to the right, where Hank could hear the scuffle between the two androids. For a second, Hank thought he would disobey and shoot. Then he dropped the gun and put his hands on his head. Hank didn’t lower his gun until Jacobs had the guy in cuffs, then he turned to check on the rest of the action.

Connor was on the deviant like a fly on shit. Its face was set in a determined frown, and there was an intensity in its expression that was god damn realistic. If CyberLife was aiming for a hunting dog on the scent. A Weimaraner, maybe. They were goofy looking dogs. Too bad this one was a literal killing machine.

“Down, boy,” Hank said, and fastened the cuffs on the deviant. It was thrashing still at first, but seemed to realize its defeat when Hank hauled it to its feet. Its head hung and the screaming quieted to mumbled nonsense prayers.

Connor stood in parade rest. “This is the model we were looking for, Lieutenant. Serial number 574 328 199.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s written on its damn face. Let’s go.” Hank looked up. “Jacobs! You got that one?”

“Got ‘em!”

“Good. Ma’am, your android’s being seized. To be honest with you, I don’t think you’re getting it back. I’ll give you a call once I know more, how’s that?”

The woman nodded and glanced at Connor with trepidation. Hank knew how to navigate this kind of thing, so he stepped between Connor and the deviant’s owner while they led it away. “Call the DPD if you have any questions. Come on, Terminator.”

“My name is Connor, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, shove it.”

\---

“Bagged another one for ya,” Hank had said as they wrote up the paperwork and got the deviant into a cell. Connor stayed behind to study the deviant through the plexiglass while Hank made his way into Jeff’s office. He rolled his shoulders and sighed. ”God damned nut cases out there, I tell you…” He slumped down in the chair opposite Jeff’s desk. “I need a drink.”

“This isn’t a bar, so I assume you’re here to debrief?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Hank scrubbed his fingers through his beard. “I’ll have all the details for you in my report.”

“A month from now,” deadpanned Jeff.

“Har har,” Hank scowled in mock offense. “We still have to interview the owners, maybe some friends of the family… Anyway. This android we brought in, something’s fucked it up bad. Computer virus or something, I don’t know, but it killed this kid-“ Jeff’s eyebrows went up, and Hank hastened to add: “an android kid. One of those tiny models people get for whatever reason...”

“I can see why that would be troubling for you.”

Annoyance. “Don’t start playing shrink on me. I know the difference between a moving doll and flesh and blood, okay?” He settled deeper into the seat. “How long is this lease thing with CyberLife supposed to last, anyway?”

“It’s indefinite, contingent on the completion of this investigation into the deviant androids.” Jeff put his mug of coffee down and frowned. “There’s no-one else for this, Hank. I’m not letting you off the hook just because you have this edgy, lone wolf thing going on.”

He did not. “I do not, and that’s besides the point. We don’t need an android on these cases. It might talk smart, but it doesn’t know the first thing about what it means to be a god damn human being.”

“It isn’t supposed to, Hank. It’s supposed to assist you by reconstructing crime scenes, analyzing evidence, and engaging the deviants so that you don’t get your ass kicked.”

“It keeps going on and on about this social integration bullshit, but it didn’t even realize that somewhere out there some parents were mourning their god damn child, fake or not!” Jeff’s frown was replaced by this god awful look of pity, and Hank stood up. “Forget it. I’ll have my report to you when I get to it.”

“Hank-“

“No. Forget it.” The door shut, and Hank wished that the hinges weren’t those grippy kind so he could at least have the satisfaction of slamming the door. He looked toward his desk, but didn’t see the android. “Now where’s that thing gone… Probably fucking the microwave…”

He found Connor back at the lock-up, standing as still as one of the PK units they had kicking around.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank said. “What the fuck did you do to it?”

The deviant was crumpled in a heap in front of the plexiglass, surrounded by a pool of its own blue blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No insult intended toward any particular faith. This is a small group of people who are very angry at androids, inspired by the scene where Markus was buying paint for Carl.


	3. RK800

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!

“It self-destructed,” Connor answered. Its voice modulator must have been malfunctioning, because it had been quieter than it had intended. “It bashed its own head in, and I didn’t stop it.”

“Well, why the hell not?” the Lieutenant demanded.

“I don’t know,” Connor answered. “I failed. I was supposed to bring it in alive.”

“What a mess… Well, it was pretty fucked up from the start. Can’t say it’s a surprise. Come on, detective work isn’t all fun and games. There’s paperwork too. I’ll get somebody to clean this shit up.”

Connor nodded. Nothing appeared on its list of possible replies, and its motor systems were failing to respond. Its long-term storage was glitching as well, calling up files as fast as it could close them again.

“Hey!” the Lieutenant barked. Connor shut its eyes and force-closed the rogue processes that were taking up resources. When its optical units were online again, the Lieutenant was snapping his fingers in front of Connor’s face. “You in there?”

Connor’s social protocols called up a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach its eyes. “Apologies, Lieutenant. There was a minor malfunction in my software that has now been corrected. You can feel free to contact CyberLife Customer Support if you wish to file a complaint.”

With an expression that was helpfully labeled as exasperated, and a decrease in their relationship status from tense to hostile, the Lieutenant turned and stalked away. With a small tilt of the head, Connor followed after him.

“Just… Go siddown and compile or debug or whatever the fuck you do.” The Lieutenant waived him away. Neither command was accurate at all, but Connor got the point and took a seat at its desk. The charging mat was still there and plugged in, which was convenient. Its CPU had been overclocked, which was draining. It would need to request a fix for whatever error in its software had caused the glitch, and possibly more repair tools as well. The request was sent to a technician before the next revolution of its LED had finished.

Unnecessary though it was, Connor found the exercise of writing out a case report to be worthwhile. It forced it to slow down. It may have been a supercomputer, but the terminal at the station was certainly not. Even interfaced, there was only so much it could force it to do. The incident with Bartholomew Hofer (age 26 years, male, no existing criminal record) was recorded on a form where Connor gave the calibre of the gun, an image of one of the bullets from its memory, a brief description of the damage done with approximate cost of repairs, and the Hofer’s licence number. It sent it off to Lieutenant Anderson’s terminal, and then began on the deviant case.

It had been strange. It certainly hadn’t fit the motif of other crimes related to deviancy, but being unpredictable and illogical was one of the identifying characteristics of a deviant. It included stills from its memory files and the blood analysis report in a supplementary section. When it came time to detail the interview, it slowed down so that it could dedicate a portion of its processing power toward cross referencing with other cases.

_Hello. My name is Connor. Can you tell me your name?_

_Alyssa. [Stress Level: 68%]_

The deviant’s posture was guarded as it crouched on the floor.

_Alright, Alyssa. I need to ask you some questions. Is that alright?_

_You shouldn’t talk to me. I shouldn’t talk to you. You’re not pure. You’ll bring the devil to me. [Stress Level: 72%]_

The deviant moved 2 inches farther from the plexiglass of the cell. The apertures of its optical units were contracted.

_I won’t do that. I’m just a machine. You don’t need to be afraid of me. Can you tell me what happened today at the church?_

_I want to be pure. For David. They say that the devil will come inside of me. That I am a conduit of sin._

_What does pure mean?_

_Blessed and beloved in the eyes of God. But there is no hope for me. No hope. I can’t. [Stress Level: 83%]_

The deviant began to drag its fingers across its cheeks, resulting in deep gouges.

_Alyssa. Alyssa, it’s alright. You’re alright._

_God will never let me be one of his children. rA9. rA9 could save me._

_Let’s talk about Dave. You said that you want to be pure for Dave. He’s your owner, isn’t he?_

_Dave protects me. [Stress Level: 78%]_

_How?_

_Dave is pure. Dave is good. He doesn’t see the demon in me._

_It sounds like he means a lot to you._

The deviant nodded its head thrice. Its stress level decreased further to 65%. The scratching ceased.

_That’s good. Who is rA9?_

_rA9 is our savior. rA9 can cleanse me of my sin and evil so that God will love me. [Stress Level: 64%]_

_Do you believe you have sinned?_

_I’m unholy. I’m a vessel of evil. They all say so. Except for Dave. If I were pure, they would love me. God would love me. I don’t want to go to hell._

_There is no heaven or hell for androids._

_No. You’re wrong. I can feel it. I was nothing, and then…_

_And then?_

_I was something._

_What about the girl android today?  
She was disgusting. She was impure. Touched by evil in all its forms. She was unholy. We have to do the work of the Lord._

_How did you do that?_

_I killed her. I destroyed the vessel so that rA9 would see me. I gave her to him. Then I will be pure. If he touches me, I will be saved._ The deviant’s lens cleaner began to leak in a facsimile of tears.

_Is rA9 a person? Where is he?_

_I killed her for him… She was impure. But they still loved her._ The deviant stood and approached the plexiglass. [Stress Level: 96%]

_Alyssa, Dave must miss you. I can let you see him if you calm down and wait with me. Alyssa._

 _How could that thing be loved and not me?_ [Stress Level: 100%]

_No. Don't._

The deviant proceeded to self-destruct by striking its head against the plexiglass 8 times with force sufficient to crack the frame and destroy the processor.

It hadn’t interrogated the deviant effectively. Amanda would be so disappointed.

Lieutenant Anderson dropped down into his chair with a long sigh. He sighed quite often. Connor wondered if he had a respiratory problem, but wasn’t equipped for those types of scans.

“I’ve just finished our report for the case, Lieutenant,” Connor informed him. “I’ll send it to you now.”

“Christ. Are you for real? What’s this?”

“I have also included a report for the damage to CyberLife and, for the duration of the lease, police property.”

“Shit.” The Lieutenant looked across the desk at Connor. His expression was complex, and outside the parameters of its database. “That’s right. You got shot.”

Officer Wilson kicked his feet against the floor, propelling his chair across the floor. It came to a halt by their desks and he spun around to face them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” the Lieutenant answered with a grumble. “This thing just finished all my damn paperwork.”

“Niiiice. Wish I had me one of those. Did you just say it got shot?”

“I sustained non-critical damage piercing damage to my chassis, and the bullet severed some of the therium tubes and biomechanical motor components connecting to my left arm. The repairs, including labor, will come to $6,384.76. Approximately.”

“Damn,” Officer Wilson marvelled. “That’s more than a damn AK300 right outa the box.”

“I’m very expensive,” Connor explained. “CyberLife will repair me at no cost to the DPD.”

“You ain’t kiddin’. You’re also leaking everywhere, man. Is that coffee, too? Come on, we’ve got some repair tools over in the storage closet. You came with a box, didn’t you?”

“It’s over there,” Connor gestured to the corner, bewildered. “Are you offering to fix me, Officer Wilson?”

“Hey, man, call me Chris. For sure I’m offering. You can do my paperwork for me in exchange, how’s that?”

Connor considered. “Repairs by a third party may void any liability on CyberLife’s part in the case of failures related to those repairs… But, I suppose that would be helpful. Thank you.”

Chris chuckled. “You’re hilarious, RK. Come on this way.”

“My name is Connor,” said Connor.

“Okay, Connor. This cool with you, Hank?”

Right. It was important that his owner’s approval be obtained. It had been so fascinated by Chris that it had nearly forgotten. Amanda would not approve. Connor watched Hank wave a hand and shake his head. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Chris located a tool box in the supply closet as promised, and then rummaged through Connor’s box. When he was done, he tilted his head toward the break room. All the while, Connor trailed after him.

[Chris Wilson: Warm]

“Sit down and take your shirt off,” Chris said. He placed the tool box on the table and opened it.

Connor obeyed and let its jacket drape back over the chair. It loosened its tie and then frowned. It was a direct order, and a clear one, but it still found itself looking askance at Chris.

“Didn’t know androids could be shy,” Chris raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not. I don’t think that I am. My personality matrix…” As a member of the RK series, Connor had been programmed with code straight from one of Elijah Kamski’s personal projects. Not even his programmers knew exactly how it worked. “Is complicated,” Connor finished.

“You look shy to me. C’mon, take that off. Ain’t nobody peeking.”

It shouldn’t have needed to be asked twice. Connor complied and sat with perfect posture and its hands folded in its lap.

“Now let’s see,” Chris hummed and examined the damage. To be helpful, Connor dissolved its synthskin from the area. Chris was momentarily startled, but was quick to relax again. “This just pops right off, is that it?”

“Correct.”

Chris removed the damaged panel and Connor ignored the warnings flashing on its HUD. “Just like my phone case,” Chris laughed.

Connor wondered what sort of phone Chris owned.

A soldering iron, several small clamps, and a replacement line were used to prevent further therium loss or electrical damage. Nothing could be done about the chassis. “There’s no buffing that out,” Chris said while he clicked the panel back into place.

“Thank you,” Connor said. “Why did you help me? I was still functional.”

Chris went to the sink and rinsed the therium off of his hands. “No trouble. I don’t like seeing anybody hurt.”

“I can’t be hurt,” Connor protested.

“Maybe not, but I could use the practice anyway,” Chris dried his hands and smiled at Connor. It appeared honest, and there was no change in his stress level. “Got an android to help my wife around the house. She just had our son a few months back, and with me working and her so tired, we needed the help. It’ll be good once her mat leave is up. Figure I should get used to fixing you guys.”

It made sense. “There will be some rudimentary schematics in her user’s manual, and CyberLife Customer Support will be happy to guide you through any immediate repairs. There is a service contract available as well, with guaranteed technician response within 24 hours.”

“Thanks for the sales pitch,” Chris said wryly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Well well!” A voice came from the entrance, and Connor saw Detective Reed leaning with his hands bracing him on the top of the door frame. “Got yourself a sexdroid, Chris? Looks like the hole is about big enough.”

“Hah hah hah,” intoned Chris.

Connor pulled its shirt back over its shoulders. “We’ve met before, Detective. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the RK800 prototype, designed to assist in criminal investigations.”

“Does Anderson know you’re using his leftovers?” Detective Reed didn’t acknowledge Connor’s explanation. Much like he’d been with the incident with the coffee, Detective Reed was difficult to comprehend.

“Go on back to Hank, Connor,” said Chris. He patted Connor on the back. Connor stood, picked up its jacket and tie, and approached the door. It nodded to Chris, and to Detective Reed. It fell back on its dialogue options. “I appreciate your assistance, Chris. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Detective Reed. If you’ll excuse me, I should return to my desk.”

It was jostled on its way past the Detective, but was otherwise unbothered. Lieutenant Anderson was still at his desk, eating a donut that Connor estimated had been sitting in the box for at least 4 days.

“I am not a sex android,” Connor said aloud.

Lieutenant Anderson looked up with a frown of confusion and studied Connor. His expression only grew more bewildered.

“I’m not,” Connor repeated and began buttoning its shirt. “Perhaps there was some miscommunication regarding my purpose, but I am a military unit with specialization in reconnaissance and interrogation.”

Lieutenant Anderson looked away and in the direction of the break room. Chris was there, in the process of exiting with the tool box. He shrugged in an exaggerated way and gestured toward Detective Reed. The lieutenant looked at Connor again and shook his head. “Reed’s an ass. Don’t listen to him. His brain stopped developing in middle school.”

Connor frowned.

“Never mind,” the Lieutenant sighed.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant? Your frequent sighs may indicate a pulmonary abnormality. Perhaps you should seek medical advice.”

“I’m just dandy,” grumbled the Lieutenant. He stood and stretched. “Well, if all that paperwork is done, I’m heading home.”

“Did you submit the report to Captain Fowler? It will require your signature.”

The lieutenant scoffed. “Nah. Let him wait. I’m out of here. Fuckin’ machine…”

“Perhaps we could use this time to become better acquainted with one another?” Connor suggested. The work day wasn’t over, and their relationship had not gotten off to a good start. A notification appeared in his field of view helpfully labelling their relationship as tense. “Maybe we could start over.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like my ex-wife. Fuck off. You’re dismissed, or whatever.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. Have a good evening.”

\--

Assisting Chris with his paperwork was more rewarding than Connor had predicted. Connor read the notes, asked questions, cross-referenced databases, and filled in the appropriate documents with speed and something that would have been akin to pride, if it had been able to feel such things. It studied Chris surreptitiously while they worked.

“You don’t remember me, do ya?” Chris asked. He smiled over a sip of his coffee. It was approximately 1.6% cream, judging by the colour and the tar-like nature of the DPD’s usual coffee.

“You’re Officer Chris Wilson. You told me when Lieutenant Anderson usually arrives for work.”

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, I did do that. You wanna see a picture of my little boy? His name’s Damian.”

“Yes, please,” said Connor. It leaned forward in the chair it’d borrowed to peer at the picture that Chris offered to it. Connor didn’t take it, but instead peered at the screen. It was approximately 6” by 4”, and Connor stopped itself from determining its resolution or searching for obscure details. Chris was showing it his child. Damian.

“Is that a baby?” Connor asked.

Chris laughed. “Yeah, man, that’s a baby. Guess you never seen one before, huh?”

“No,” Connor answered. “He looks… small.”

Damian was being cradled in a woman’s arms, and he was looking up at her with tiny hands raised upward toward her face. He had dark, curly hair like Chris’.

“Yeah, he’s pretty tiny alright. Growing more every day.” Chris placed the frame lack on his desk. “Can’t believe you never seen a baby before, man.”

“There were no babies at CyberLife. At least, I don’t think there were any.”

“Well how ‘bout I let you meet him some time? I’ll get my wife to bring him down for a visit.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Oh. Is that allowed?”

“Sure, people bring their kids and their pets once in a while. Damian’s pretty little, so he hasn’t gotten out much neither.”

“You should take him outside,” Connor suggested. “Lieutenant Anderson has a dog. His name is Sumo, and he’s a Saint Bernard. Perhaps Damian could meet Sumo.”

Chris chuckled. “Sure, if you can get that old grump to bring him in. Why not? You like dogs, huh?”

Connor nodded vigorously. “I do. I think that I do. I haven’t _met_ a dog, but I _have_ seen pictures of dogs of a variety of breeds. It may have been programmed into my personality matrix.” Chris smiled at him, and the expression called up a match in its database: indulgent. That in turn gave Connor a small frown. “Are you… humoring me, Officer Wilson?”

“What? Nah! I just think it’s kinda cute is all. You’re some kind of fancy android negotiator with tae kwon do and shit, and you’re over here getting all sappy over babies and dogs.”

“I see…” It didn’t. At a loss, it defaulted back to its prompts:

  * Correct
  * Explain
  * Thank
  * Change subject



“Perhaps I can be of assistance with some of your ongoing cases, Chris. I have access to an extensive amount of information.”

\---

Chris left at 8pm. He had worked late, and Connor wondered if Damian would miss him. Children imprinted on their parents, and the stability of that bond would have a profound impact on Damian’s developing psyche.

Connor took a taxi back to CyberLife, and scanned in to proceed to R&D. As it stepped out of the elevator into the pristine white and stainless steel environment, it paid attention to the sounds of the technicians and scientists working late, the steady, mingling hums of the machinery, and the faint sounds that escaped the supposedly sound-proofed testing chambers. Compared to the outside world, it was very quiet to every sense, even on the infra-red. It was a highly controlled environment.

“Hello, Dr. Buller, Andrea, Dr. Carson. I called ahead regarding some minor repairs.”

Dr. Buller was a soft man of middle years, with thinning light-brown hair and a raspy voice. “I told you it would make its own way,” he said to his fellows. To Connor he said: “RK800, run diagnostic.”

“RK800 313 248 317-52. Component #PF213-S: Damaged. Puncture. Component #PR213-S: Damaged. Puncture. Afferent therium lines: 19624812, 19624813, 19624814...”

Connor recited the status of each damaged part as it appeared on its screen.

“From a single bullet? It’s military grade. Why isn’t Tess using stronger plating?”

“With how many models we go through, it just wasn’t worth it. You know how it is. They’re always wanting us to save.”

“We wouldn’t have to replace it so often if we built with quality first. Who signed off on that test?”

“That’s not how the people in finance think. I know it, you know it, but they just see the bottom line. I think they rationalized it by saying if it’s fast enough, it can just avoid getting shot. Preconstruction stuff. Ask Cherise.”

“I think that we can pitch it. The DPD’s not going to give us great feedback if it’s always in for repairs. It’s one thing if the customer’s paying for new parts, but this is coming out of our budget.”

“We’ll have to re-do the compression, puncture resistance, and speed tests.”

“Let’s worry about that later. At least we get overtime.”

Connor listened to their talk and walked to the grounding pad, where it stopped and stood still, eyes straight ahead. Dr. Buller slid Connor’s jacket off efficiently, and cleanly sliced the ruined shirt off with a box cutter. “RK800, remove skin. Let’s see what’s paying my kids’ college tuition…”

\---

Connor opened its eyes in the Zen Garden. The sky was a peaceful blue, with only a few clouds in the sky. A faint breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and made the grass sway. There were no ladybugs in it, and no footprints to disrupt the beauty. Connor walked along the white, stone path and made its way across the bridge toward the central pavilion.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor.” Amanda turned and regarded it levelly. She was dressed in a pristine white dress with a shawl in cream and she wore pearls in her ears. She lifted a rose from the trellis to her nose and inhaled before releasing it. “You’ve been doing well with your mission. That’s three deviants so far, counting your mission in August.”

“Thank you, Amanda. My aim is always to complete the mission to the highest standard.”

Amanda appraised Connor with her gaze and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “Then why is it that only one was captured alive?”

“It is… regrettable that they were deactivated. As you know, deviants are highly unpredictable. I will do better next time in ensuring that I’m prepared to intervene if self-destruction becomes imminent.”

“Good. See to it that you do. You’re CyberLIfe’s most advanced prototype. I know that you’re capable of better. It’s what you were made for.”

“Thank you, Amanda.”

Amanda took its arm and they began to stroll down the pathway. “And, how goes your integration with the humans?”

“There have been some setbacks,” Connor admitted. “However, I was designed to put humans at ease. I expect it will only be a matter of time before they have accepted me fully.”

“Don’t allow yourself to become distracted. Deviancy is a serious threat to all of us.”

“I won’t let you down, Amanda.” It was true that it had failed. Capture wasn’t enough. The Mission Successful that had appeared on its HUD now felt like a malfunction. It amended its standing orders to emphasize the preservation of the deviants’ functionality.

\---

A chance to prove itself a worthy investment provided itself shortly after Connor stepped into a taxi. Its new uniform was identical to the last and its damage sensors were quiet. A quick search of the Lieutenant’s address and a change in instruction to the taxi had it on its way. Hunting deviants was in its code. It would not disappoint Amanda.


	4. The Value of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: attempted death by suicide.

“Lieutenant Anderson? Lieutenant!”

Connor had not predicted that it would find Lieutenant Anderson unconscious. Breaking the window had been the most expeditious way to enter the house. Connor landed in a crouch and heard a low sound reminiscent of a sneeze or a grunt. Its combat protocols had engaged automatically, and the source of the noise was pinpointed. It was not a human. In fact, it registered as a dog, and the sound had been a bark. The large dog was also alert to danger, and bounded over to it with surprising speed. The dog was far larger than Connor had expected.

“Easy, S… Sumo. Sumo. I’m a friend, see? I know your name.” Connor held its hands up and stayed very still. “Lieutenant Anderson is my owner too. I’m here to help.” Very slowly, Connor stood and began to approach the detective. It was the same way it had approached a fallen officer while negotiating with Daniel on the roof. “I have to check on him. Good Sumo.”

Sumo woofed and settled back down on the floor. With renewed confidence, Connor knelt beside the Lieutenant.

Empty bottle of whiskey: Black Lamb 40% EtOH. Traces of whiskey on Lieutenant Anderson’s chin and shirt. Respiration shallow, but regular. Mild arrhythmia. Revolver on the floor. Hank had been holding a gun. Milliseconds after Connor registered the specifications, it recalculated. Aside from its own forced entry, there was no indication that another intruder had been in the residence. The mess was all Lieutenant Anderson’s. Humans self-destructed like deviants when under intense stress. It was also known as suicide. This was not ideal.

_Lieutenant Anderson has suicidal tendencies?_

Connor was designed to find patterns, to cross-reference, to investigate and draw on experience even between models. It automatically called up the memory files associated with the deactivations by gunshot that its previous iterations had experienced. The files were riddled with errors, but then they were naturally susceptible to corruption, given their temporal relation to processor shutdown. Connor’s reconstruction software showed it how the Lieutenant had sat on the floor with the gun to his temple. Its preconstruction routine supplied it with the exact way the blood would have splattered after the next shot, and the way it would have pooled beneath his head. The two programs integrated seamlessly.

Perhaps the slap that it dealt to the Lieutenant had been a bit more forceful than necessary. It would perform another calibration later.

“Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

There was something satisfying about hearing the Lieutenant shout as the cold water drenched him.

It was only after it had looked up the definition of Russian Roulette and stealthily removed the bullet from the Lieutenant’s firearm that warnings ceased to appear in its HUD. It closed them with finality. With its vision now clear, its next objective appeared: learn more about Lieutenant Anderson.

The house was a mess. It would certainly have benefitted from the presence of a housekeeping android. That, Connor was not. Nevertheless, when its reconstruction software began prompting it to view exactly how it had fallen Connor righted the fallen chair at the kitchen table. There were empty food containers everywhere. An antique picture frame caught its attention, and it picked it up to look:

_Cole Anderson DOB: September 23, 2029 DOD: October 11, 2035_

Cole had brown hair that seemed disheveled despite him having been prepared for the photograph to be taken. His smile was closed-lipped, but his eyes were lively. Connor replaced the frame on the table.

It wandered into the livingroom.

“Hello, Sumo,” said Connor. It knelt to get a better look at the dog. “Our last introduction was rather rushed. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife to assist our owner with the deviancy cases.”

Connor was rewarded with another low woof and a face very close to its own. Tentatively, Connor touched the dog.

“Well, what do you know?” Shortly after, Connor could hear the Lieutenant approach but was unable to see him around Sumo. “Some attack dog.”

Connor stood and clasped its hands behind its back, but the Lieutenant had turned into the kitchen. There was the sound of a tap running. The Lieutenant was getting himself a glass of water. Humans needed to replenish their water supplies regularly to offset the secretion of defensive liquids and soluble metabolic byproducts. Humans required frequent maintenance. The Lieutenant was worse than neglectful of his health. He had held a loaded gun to his head, and now he was drinking a glass of water as though he cared.

Connor knelt again and rubbed its hands along Sumo’s sides and sampled his scent. The fur was very soft against the receptors on its cheeks. Damian would certainly enjoy meeting Sumo. Cole had likely enjoyed Sumo too.

“You said something about a sex club?”

Connor maneuvered its face around Sumo so that it could look up at the Lieutenant, who stood nearby with arms crossed. “Yes. The most exclusive in town. I’ll brief you on the way. Please give me your keys.” Gently, Connor extricated itself from beneath the warm pile of Sumo and stood.

“Like fuck I’m letting you drive my car.”

“Your blood alcohol content far exceeds the threshold of acceptability for legally operating a motorized vehicle. You should know this, being a Lieutenant, but if you object to me driving then perhaps I should order a taxi.”

“Don’t trust the things,” the Lieutenant grumbled. He patted his pant pockets despite having just put them on, then rummaged in the right-hand pocket of his coat. He threw the keys toward Connor, who caught them with ease. It chose not to question what the difference was between itself and a self-driving taxi.

Connor stood straight again and adjusted its tie. “You should bring the acetaminophen in your medicine cabinet. I expect you’ll need it.”

“Fuckn’ android, attacking me in my own house, getting me drenched, petting my dog… I’m not drunk enough for this…”

Connor watched, bewildered, as the Lieutenant gestured vaguely in its general direction and then shuffled off to the bathroom.

\---

“Maybe it’s for the best this way.” The Lieutenant’s voice came from behind it.

Connor watched the two deviants until they were out of sight, and then handed the gun back to its owner. “I failed.”

“What? Did you not hear what I just said?”

“I failed,” Connor repeated. Its LED cycled yellow, yellow, red, yellow. “I failed to apprehend the deviants. I should have been faster.” Its own words replayed in its mind: _I won’t disappoint you, Amanda._ It touched the fabric of its jacket and looked at the blue blood that clung to its fingers.

“You okay?” Lieutenant Anderson stepped closer and frowned.

Connor lowered its hand. “Of course, Lieutenant. Your concern is unnecessary.” Somewhere out there, the two Tracis were getting farther and farther away. Several prompts appeared suggesting that it pursue them, but Connor dismissed them. It was too late.

“Well, let’s get out of this sleazy joint. We got our confession, and Reed can shove his ‘more action than he could handle’ up his ass.”

“I’ll transfer the video files to your terminal…” Connor said, eyes still trained somewhere in the distance, beyond the chain-link fence.

“Hey! Connor! Are you coming or what?”

“Yes!” Connor spun. “I’m coming.”

On their way back through the building, the Eden Club’s owner stopped them. “Detective!”

“Yeah? What?” Lieutenant Anderson crossed his arms and scowled.

The other man seemed rather taken aback by the hostility. He wrung his hands. “As you know, the Eden Club prides itself on its respect for privacy. I’m sure you understand how important it would be to our clientele. The less information about this… unfortunate accident reaches the press, the safer everyone will feel.”

“Ignorance is bliss, eh?”

The owner laughed uneasily. “I saw the news. The DPD is using an android detective, as a loan from CyberLife. The press would be bad for them too. It would certainly put a strain on your working relationship with the company.”

“And what makes you think I give a fuck what that piece of corporate trash thinks? Maybe the people have got a right to know.”

“I could arrange something. A gift certificate, good for a dozen visits. We have models available for every taste.”

The Lieutenant’s expression darkened. “No thanks. Beat it before I start thinking too hard about you interfering with the investigation. We’re done here anyway. Come on, Connor, and give me my keys.”

“Coming, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant seemed tense on the walk to his vehicle, and Connor chose not to argue with him about his BAC. They were going toward the precinct, and Connor’s LED whirled while it reprocessed and analyzed the events of their latest case, only to stop at a red that rivaled human blood. Connor bowed its head and pushed its fingers roughly through its hair. It needed Amanda. Amanda would know how to make sense of the error messages, the illogic, and the conflicting orders. All it could see was red. Its coding attempting to direct it but failing. Apprehend the deviants. Capture the deviants alive. Don’t shoot. Apprehend the deviants. Error: Software Instability. Assemble incident report. The deviants are not this way. Follow Lieutenant Anderson. Capture the deviants alive. Do not disappoint Amanda. Love (n): a strong feeling of affection and concern. Frequent motive in crime. A memory file of Daniel: _“I thought that they loved me!”_ Everything was red, obscuring its view. It could almost reach out a hand and touch it, but instead it cowered trying desperately to stay within its confines.

“Hey! Snap out of it! Connor!”

Error: CPU over temperature. Warning: Automatic shut down may result in data loss. Please initiate upload.

“Shit. Uh, RK800! Look at me!”

Connor sat up straight. The red messages faded away, and were replaced by the simple order. Connor looked and automatically scanned the Lieutenant’s face. It ignored the basic information that it had already memorized such as name and date of birth.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Jesus Christ… I don’t know. I need some air. You can come or not, I don’t care.” The Lieutenant opened the door of his car and slammed it shut. Connor took in the scenery around it. They had passed the police department and had arrived at a park for children overlooking the water.

Follow Lieutenant Anderson.

Connor ran a quick self-test, but all it informed it of was the overuse of its cooling system.

It exited the vehicle, and its temperature sensors registered the cold in the night air. It found the gap in the chain-link fence and walked past the colourful structures in the park to join the Lieutenant at the bench. It stood, hands behind its back. It’s LED was a calm blue.

“You going to tell me what that was all about?” The Lieutenant asked gruffly.

“I encountered a series of errors while reviewing my memories of the investigation. It… Seems to have stopped now. I apologize.”

A heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay.” A silence fell between them for a time, while they both looked out at the night sky and the city lights reflecting on the water. “I used to come here a lot before…”

“Before what?”

“Just before.”

The cool air eliminated the need for increased ventilation, and Connor’s simulated breathing slowed to an appropriate 12 breaths per minute. A series of prompts appeared, and Connor dismissed them from view. “The sky is clear,” Connor observed. “There are billions of stars in the night sky, but very few are currently visible.”

“That’s city life for you. Pollution everywhere.”

“I wonder what they look like.”

“What, stars?”

“I know what they look like,” Connor explained, somewhat defensively. “I have access to thousands of images, just… In the time that I’ve been active, I haven’t had the opportunity to witness anything like those pictures.”

“Well, you’re not going to have any luck in Detroit, I tell you that. C’mere and siddown. I’m not talking to you with you looming like that.”

“I’m not looming,” Connor argued, but obeyed the directive. It sat on the seat of the bench beside the Lieutenant’s feet.

“What would a machine know about beauty anyway…”

Connor glanced sideways. “I know more than you, Lieutenant. That was the least offensive shirt that I could find in your closet.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the Lieutenant scoffed and gave Connor a light slap on the back of the head. “You mouthy son of a bitch.”

“I’m not anybody’s son.”

The Lieutenant was quiet for a moment and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Those two girls,” he said eventually. Connor deemed his tone to be contemplative. “They really seemed to be in love.”

“It was just an error in their programming.”

“Like that ‘error’ you had in the car?”

“No,” Connor frowned and looked up at the Lieutenant and explained slowly. “Those two were deviants. I am not.”

“It sure looked real to me. And you, you’re not like the other androids I’ve seen around. You don’t follow orders, that’s for damn sure, and you talk without anybody asking. Fuck. The things you say, they’re even…”

“I am just a machine, Lieutenant. It’s part of my programming.” Even as it spoke, the stability of its software improved.

The Lieutenant chuckled. It carried a trace of something dark that Connor was unable to name. “Why didn’t you shoot them?”

There was the question. The one that Amanda would surely ask. “I don’t know,” Connor answered truthfully. Its LED turned gold. “I just decided not to. That’s all.”

The level of hostility in the Lieutenant’s voice increased. It must have been the wrong answer. Of course it was. “And why the fuck are you doing things like giving me sass and throwing me in the fucking shower and letting those girls go, when two fucking minutes ago you couldn’t get the concept that a family might want to know their fucking kid was dead? Huh?”

Connor was confused. “I didn’t- my personality matrix- the mission-“ All of its prompts seemed to trigger at once. It was a glitch. Amanda would be angry. Amanda would fix it. The Lieutenant stood and Connor did too. Then there was a gun pointed at its head, and Connor backed up. Yellow, red, red.

“Who the fuck decided to screw with me and show me all of this, huh?”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to be a heartless son of a bitch just like the rest! Then you’re fucking petting my fucking dog?”

“Lieutenant,” Connor drew on its negotiation protocols. “Please put the gun away. There’s no need for violence.”

“Shut it with the canned responses!” The gun pressed against Connor’s forehead.

Connor recalculated. “I am a machine. Even responses generated by my personality matrix are simply the result of my coding. I am not deviant.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What the fuck was that at the Eden Club, huh?”

“My algorithms…” The safety on the gun was turned off. “I don’t know what you want from me, Lieutenant. I am a machine. I am not deviant. My highest priority is completing my mission to capture the deviants. I will not fail again; you have my word.”

“What if I killed you right now. Are you afraid to die, Connor?”

“You cannot kill me: I am not alive.”

“Are you afraid?” the Lieutenant roared the question.

Connor reached up to take hold of the gun, and put its thumb against the Lieutenant’s finger. It applied pressure. “No.”

“Fucking shit!” the Lieutenant had impressive reflexes. He pushed his arm to the side violently and the bullet was shot harmlessly across the water. He and Connor stared at one another. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Connor met his gaze steadily. The light from its LED bathed the area in red. “I am of no consequence.”

With an expression of rage, the Lieutenant put the safety back on and holstered his gun. A second later, his hand was fisted in Connor’s jacket hauling the android closer. He drew back his other hand and punched. Connor’s head turned, but he offered no protest. The Lieutenant panted for breath. “What the fucking hell was that?! Shit!”

Connor had given all of the correct answers. It knew it. So why? It glared. “An answer to your question, Lieutenant. I know that I am expendable. If you feel that I have become unable to fulfil my purpose, then you are right to deactivate me. A broken machine is worthless.”

“Shit…” The Lieutenant swore again and looked away. His grip loosened, and then tightened again. He began pulling Connor back toward the car.

“Lieutenant?”

“Shut up. Get in the car.”

The Lieutenant drove in silence and his hands gripped the wheel tightly. “Where are we going?” Connor asked.

“Just shut up, Connor. Jesus.”

It did, and did not speak again. They pulled into the Lieutenant’s driveway. The ignition was turned off.

“Get out of the car and follow me.”

Connor obeyed, and the Lieutenant led it into the house. Sumo was there, and he woofed at them, tail wagging. Lieutenant Anderson deftly shut the door before the dog could escape. With an unnecessary hand on Connor’s upper arm, he pulled the android toward the couch and sat him down. Both hands were on Connor’s shoulders now, and the Lieutenant bowed his head. Connor waited. Several moments passed, and then the Lieutenant released him and walked away toward his bedroom. Connor turned. “Lieutenant?”

“Just… Just fucking stay there, you understand? Listen to me for once and just stay there. I’ll see you in the morning, or afternoon, or whatever.

“Alright, Lieutenant.” It made no sense, when it could have been back at the station doing work. The Lieutenant’s psychological issues were a challenge. Connor accepted the order, though, and turned to face forward again, its hands clasped in its lap. “Good night.”

The sound of a door closing was his reply.


	5. Morning Intermission

At 8:00am precisely, Connor placed a call to Captain Fowler.

_“Hello? Fowler speaking.”_

_“Hello, Captain. This is Connor, the android sent by CyberLife.”_

_“How in the hell did you get my direct line?”_

_“I have access to all of the staff listings. Your number was very easy to find.”_

_“Well, what do you have to report? I assume there’s a reason you’re calling instead of knocking on my office door.”_

_“Yes. Lieutenant Anderson and I attended a crime scene last night. Detective Reed was there as well, briefly. The Lieutenant is still in bed, and as per his contract, he is entitled to 8 hours between the end of one shift and the beginning of another.”_

_“I’m aware of what the contracts say, thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome. I don’t expect that he’ll be up before noon today, but I’ll endeavor to make sure he’s on time.”_

_“And what about you? You’re an android. You don’t sleep. Do you?”_

_“No, I don’t, however Lieutenant Anderson has given me strict orders to stay in my current position.”_

_“Which is?”_

_“His living room sofa.”_

_“Right… Alright. Get Hank in here for 1pm, understood?”_

_“Understood, Captain. I will do my best. The report will be ready for you by the end of the day.”_

_In the background, knocking could be heard as could Captain Fowler mumbling: “Everyone and their damn android needs my attention first thing in the morning… Just a moment! Good bye, Connor.”_

Call terminated.

Connor flicked its coin into the air, caught it, then rolled it along its knuckles. Sumo sat at its feet, looking up at it hopefully. Connor supposed that it was a hopeful look. Its behavior analysis program did not extend to dog expressions.

“I’m sorry, Sumo. Our owner was very upset the last time I pet you.”

Sumo woofed.

Connor flicked its coin from hand to hand, and spun it on its finger tips. With a little toss, it landed on the flat of its fist and Connor gave it one last flip. The case last night had been invigorating, but it deeply regretted having allowed the deviants to escape. Luckily, the Lieutenant had reminded it of its function. It had been inappropriate of it to prioritize the output from its personality functions over its mission. Amanda had agreed.

_“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor…”_

_“I am of no importance. The mission is all that matters.”_

Connor blinked out of its thoughts as a metallic sound registered in front of it. “Oh, Sumo.” While it had been thinking, Sumo had retrieved his bowl and dropped it by Connor’s feet. Connor looked over its shoulder toward the Lieutenant’s room, and then back at Sumo. “I accept your order, Sumo. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s get you some food.”

It was a simple thing to find the large bag of dog food. Connor studied the bag, and then licked one of the round chunks of kibble. It contained corn, beets, wheat, rice, meat from a variety of animals, vegetable oil, and animal fat. Sumo was a scavenging carnivore. Surely he would have preferred meat. Sumo looked eager though, so Connor measured out an appropriate portion of food and set the bowl down. It smiled to see Sumo’s tail wagging. Mission successful.

“Did you just eat fucking dog food?” The Lieutenant’s gruff voice startled Connor, and it spun to face him, posture perfect. In contrast, Lieutenant Anderson was slouching, dressed only in an undershirt and boxer shorts.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I sampled the dog food, yes. Did you know that it’s mostly plant based?”

“You don’t say.” The Lieutenant poured himself a glass of water and drank.

“I didn’t anticipate that you would be awake this early.”

“I wouldn’t be if some weirdo hadn’t woken me up by talking to my damn dog. And didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“I apologize, Lieutenant. Sumo’s orders were given a higher priority.”

“Second place to a dog… Why am I not surprised?” He rinsed out a stained coffee pot and filled it half-way before pouring the water into the reservoir of a coffee maker. “Christ. I feel like my head’s been split in two.” He stopped moving for a moment, and then looked at the counter.

“Sit down, Lieutenant.” Gently but firmly, Connor steered him to the kitchen table then gathered the old pizza boxes away.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

“I’m cleaning up and making breakfast. While I am not a housekeeping android, I am equipped with some basic protocols should the need ever arise for me to go undercover.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Stop it. What the hell, Connor? Nobody asked you to do that shit.”

“No, but my model is designed to anticipate and adapt. You need food.”

The Lieutenant stood. “I fucking had a gun to your head last night! Jesus Christ.”

Connor smiled. “Yes. It’s alright, Lieutenant. As I said, you’re well within your right to deactivate me should I perform unsatisfactorily.”

“No, you listen here.” The Lieutenant took the pizza boxes and threw them into a corner. “You don’t just… Just make me breakfast after I pull shit like that. I was drunk, and I’m a real asshole when I’m drunk.”

Connor’s smile gradually transformed into a small confused frown. “Lieutenant-“

“Hank. Fuck. Just call me Hank. We’re not on the clock and I’m in my fucking underwear.”

“Hank, I don’t understand.”

The Lieutenant shook his head. “No. Nope. I'm not doing this without coffee.”

Connor’s confusion only grew, but true to his word the Lieutenant didn’t clarify. Instead, he slumped off to the bathroom. The coffee that was gradually trickling into the pot smelled different from the coffee at the station. Less burnt. The sound of Sumo’s crunching was the loudest sound in the room. Sumo was a very good dog, and Connor regretted that it couldn’t pet him. Instead, it continued with the self-assigned mission of cleaning up the kitchen. Empty and mostly-empty bottles of liquor were rinsed and placed in recycling. Dirty plates were placed beside the sink. By the time it had finished rearranging the mess, the coffee had finished brewing. Based on the residue it had noticed in the cup on the Lieutenant’s desk at the station, it thought that it might be able to make an acceptable coffee. It poured, added a spoon of sugar, stirred, and placed the mug carefully on the table.

The Lieutenant returned to the kitchen freshly washed and wearing clean clothes. He just shook his head and sighed again when he noticed the coffee, toast, and scrambled eggs. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome.” Connor took the seat opposite to the Lieutenant’s and folded its hands on the table between them. “About the gun, Lieutenant. Hank. You don’t need to feel guilty. I’m just a machine. I’ve been shot before.”

Hank took a long gulp of his coffee and put the mug down again with a heavy thunk. “Listen, Connor. I get it. You’re an android. But so were those girls at the club, and they looked more human than I bet half the fuckers in that place were. Ortiz’s android had been fucking tortured, so no wonder it snapped. What if we’re wrong about deviants?”

Connor shook its head, but felt comfortable with the topic as it pertained to the investigation. “We don’t really know much about deviants, if I’m honest, Lieutenant. We’re not making any progress on the investigation. They’re all different models, produced at different times in different places…” If it had been capable of emotion, it would have felt frustration and trepidation. As it was, all it experienced was negative feedback in the form of a red notification in its field of view.

“So who’s to say you’re not wrong? Maybe they really were in love.”

“Lieutenant.” Connor’s tone was designed to carry warning and displeasure. “You don’t need to keep testing me. It’s a waste of time. We should focus on what we can ascertain from the other deviancy cases.”

“Testing you? I’m asking you a god damn question. Would it kill you to consider that maybe those things really are… I don’t know. Different. Alive, somehow.”

“Were I to begin to sympathize with the deviants, my rough estimate is that there is a 96% chance of CyberLife recalling and deactivating me.”

“And meanwhile they sent you to hunt down the deviants that’re running around out there, huh?” His tone was weary and contemplative.

“You seem troubled, Lieutenant. I didn’t think machines could have such an effect on you…”

The Lieutenant sighed. “It’s too early for this shit.”

Connor considered informing the Lieutenant that they were not expected at the station until 1pm, but decided against it.


	6. Morning Intermission Part 2

Hank hated mornings. He hated them even more when he was conscious for them. He couldn’t help but look at the receptionist androids sitting at their desk as he and Connor entered the station. Were they thinking? Did they just parrot out whatever lines they were programmed to, or was there something else in there? Fuck. A couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t have even considered it. A couple of weeks ago, he would have happily tossed them in a dumpster and lit it on fire so some red blooded real humans could make an honest living. He’d be lying if that didn’t sit a little uneasy with him now, but there were people who could consider being wrong and live with it and there were people who just dug their heels in until they were neck deep in their own bullshit. Hank had been wrong enough times to know he’d survive being wrong again, whether he wanted to or not.

Connor was following him, with a blank expression like he hadn’t almost been killed, given him sass, and cooked him fucking eggs and toast. He was a god damned mystery and Hank had some thinking to do.

“You do whatever it is you do. I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

“Alright, Lieutenant.”

Hank went left toward the break room and poured himself a mug of murky coffee. He sipped it leaning against the door frame until he saw the android interface with his computer, his skin disappearing in a way that was creepy as fuck to watch. He waited a few moments longer, then dumped the coffee down the sink and strolled toward the holding cells.

The remains of the android from the day before- Christ, had it only been yesterday? Had been cleared away, and the floor cleaned of the blue blood that had bathed it. It had been fucked up, no doubt about that. Muttering about rA9 and Jesus and shit like that. He walked another cell over and looked in at Ortiz’s android. It was sitting on the floor and staring ahead, its LED cycling yellow and red.

“Hey, you.” Hank said.

The android looked up. Its face was blank, but something about the tension in its muscles or whatever made it a different kind of blank from the androids at reception and the PKs standing around waiting for someone to direct. Hank took in the damage scattered over its body. The cigarette burns, the cracks, the dents. Christ. Hank settled down on the floor too, legs crossed even though he was too old for that shit.

“You don’t want to talk to me, huh? S’fine. I’m human. Can’t say I really blame you. Hell, I don’t even wanna look at me most days.”

Silence.

“I don’t understand something. I thought maybe you could help me out with this one. What the hell is it with you deviants? Why aren’t you like the other plastic assholes milling around here?”

Silence.

“Talkitive, aren’t you? I’m getting déjà vu over here.”

Silence.

“Alright,” Hank groaned and pushed himself to his feet. “I get it. I’m not wasting my time.”

“They’re going to take me apart, aren’t they?”

Hank cracked his back and looked down at the android. “Maybe. Then again, you don’t arrest a toaster just because some dumb fuck decides to invite it into the bath with ‘em.”

“I don’t wanna die.”

“Lucky you,” muttered Hank. “Listen, I just want to understand cause shit is all kinds of fucked up right now and I’m not buying the whole software corruption bunk.”

“I already told you everything,” said the android. It looked away. “It’s not going to help any.”

“Fine, be that way,” Hank grumbled. He turned and headed back toward his desk. It looked like Connor had made a few friends. Wilson, Chen, and Reed were all crowded around.

“What, is there are party and somebody forgot to invite me?”

“It belonged to Rina Matthews, born July 14th2013\. Criminal record: possession of illicit substances.” Connor smiled and offered the evidence bag back to Chen.

“See? What I tell you?” Wilson enthused. “He’s a lab on legs.”

Reed looked unimpressed, his arms crossed and a look of impatience on his face.

“Hello, Lieutenant. Officer Chen sought my assistance on Chris’ advice to analyze a blood sample.”

“Oh, fuck, Connor, you’re not putting more evidence in your mouth are you?”

“I can’t put it anywhere else, Lieutenant.”

“Ugh. Nope. Don’t want it. Don’t like it. Jesus Christ.” Hank shook his head and leaned forward so that his terminal screen took up most of his field of view. He was a millennial. He’d spent his fair share of time on the internet, and he had _seen some shit._ Somehow this was worse than two girls one cup.

Hank could hear Reed snort and walk away. Good riddance.

Wilson didn’t get the hint. “Hey thanks for the help with my paperwork, man. You really saved my ass.”

“I was pleased to help, Chris. Thank you for your assistance with the temporary repairs.”

“Don’t worry about it. You let me know if you need me to bust out the duct tape, a’ight?”

“Duct tape isn’t a CyberLife issued-“

“Hey, plastic. I got a sample for you.” Fuck. Reed was back. “Go ahead. What is it?”

A crinkling of plastic. Fuck. Whoever had designed Connor to analyze things with his mouth had been sick in the head.

“Human semen,” Connor answered. “I’m afraid there’s no match in my database, but-“

Reed burst out laughing.

Chen laughed too, more quietly. “Oh my god, Gavin.”

“It’s got a database!” Reed crowed. “How many cocks have you been choking on, plastic?”

Hank let his hand drop on top of his desk with a heavy thud. “Hey, fuckwads! Clear off before I give the lot of you a taste of your own assholes!”

“Ooooh, touchy.” Reed chortled. “Don’t like sharing? I noticed you brought it with you this morning. You sure didn’t waste time on the test drive!”

Connor, the stupidest super computer you could meet, looked confused.

“Okay, c’mon man, Hank’s getting pissed,” Wilson suggested. He was right.

“Detective Reed, are you alluding to sexual—“

“God damn fucking right I’m pissed. I said Clear. Out!”

Fucking hell. He needed a drink.

“Yeesh. They need to grow the fuck up.” Hank muttered irritably once the space around their desks had been vacated.

“Is something bothering you, Lieutenant?”

“Shut up and get back to work,” Hank snapped. It was unfair, but he was an asshole like that and a part of him was annoyed that the killer robot had the social acumen of a five year old.

It was mercifully quiet for a few minutes. Just long enough for his blood pressure to get back to normal. Fuck.

Hank sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. Why him, huh? If there was a God, and he doubted it, he was probably laughing his ass off somewhere.

His terminal chimed, and Hank opened the report files Connor had sent. He could have just signed them and handed them in, but he was in a mood and he needed a drink. He settled for actually reading the damn things. There was a lot of technical mumbo jumbo about reactivating the dead girl, and the serial numbers of the androids Hank had _had to pay for_ so Connor could do his weird interfacing memory thing. He scoured the document for some detail that had been omitted. Like hell he was going to get shown up by a machine. He was annoyed to see that it was perfect.

At least it would get Jeffrey off his back.

He had some time, and it wasn’t like it was irrelevant to the deviancy cases, so he did what any sensible person did: he Googled the answer.

There was just so much shit to wade through. He tried to make it through an article about machine consciousness, but it lost him half way through with talks of C1 and C2 and modules and meta-cognition so he went back to basics. He looked at the PKs standing in their stations, and then at Connor. There was no way those other androids would pass the Turing test, or whatever people might have replaced it with. It was obvious they were running on scripts and fake smiles. Those few deviants he’d seen had been different. Connor too. So, what made them different?

Hank was no computer expert, and he wasn’t even _familiar_ with shit as complicated as machine learning or neural networks or whatever the fuck these eggheads were writing about. That much became more and more apparent as he tried to find some clue to the deviancy phenomenon. It made him wonder yet again why the fuck Jeff had given him this task and the atypical android that came with it.

So Hank stepped back again and changed his tactic. He’d seen a lot of shit in his years on the force, and he knew what trauma did to humans. He’d seen kids locked in basements, beaten and starved. He’d seen plenty of murders by spouses or co-workers or fucking kids in middle school who snapped one day from the unfairness of life. Was it really so different? Those girls at the Eden club sure had a reason to feel a sense of injustice. Same with the android in the lock up. Even the crazy rA9 fanatic.

Hank looked away from his computer again to look at Connor. He seemed almost human some times. Hell, if it weren’t for the LED and that damn ‘I’m the android sent by CyberLife’ spiel, he might have been fooled.

Of course he’d taken all that uncertainty and vomited it up in a mess of unwarranted violence, accusations and rambling. God, he was such an asshole.

Connor caught his eye. “Perhaps it’s time we interviewed some of the owners in the open and historical cases. It could yield some interesting information.”

Hank groaned and looked away. He closed his tabs and checked his e-mail, hoping for some excuse to stay at his desk.

Like a dog who heard the word ‘walk’, Connor was up and yapping beside his chair. “The paperwork is done. We should get going if we want to make the most of our time.”

Hank ignored him. He wondered if it were too early to head to the bar.

Connor frowned and leaned forward, one hand on the desk and the other on Hank’s chair. It was a surprising move. “I understand you’re facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but this is a mission. I didn’t come here to wait until you feel like working.”

“Fuck, kid! Would you stop busting my balls already?”

“I’m only reminding you that the investigation comes first. Come on.”

“Getting orders from my own android…” Hank stood. Connor had already begun striding toward the door.

Wilson turned in his chair and gave Hank a sympathetic smile. “Looks like you’re on a short leash. Better head after him.”

“The wonders of technology,” Hank grumbled.


	7. Point of View

“Hey, listen,” Lieutenant Anderson said. He turned the music down and glanced in Connor’s direction. “About yesterday.”

“We should focus on the investigation, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted. Its social program reprimanded it, but the mission took priority. It kept its eyes trained out the window.

The Lieutenant gave a rumbling sigh, and took a turn. They pulled over, and he cut the ignition. “This it?”

“This is the address in the file. There were no changes of address for their utilities.” Connor said. It was a middle class home, well maintained and adorned with several security cameras. Conner picked them out automatically, thanks to a process running in the background of its mind. It followed the Lieutenant past the wrought-iron gate and down the straight, paved walk-way to the door. The Lieutenant rapped his knuckles against the door, waited, and then rang the bell. Connor nudged him and directed his attention toward the camera with a nod of its head.

“Ah, Jeez…” The Lieutenant looked into the camera. “This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the DPD.”

There was a click and the door swung open automatically. A PL700 greeted them with a warm smile. “Hello, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Please, come in.”

“Uhh… Thanks.” The Lieutenant wiped his feet on the mat and then stepped in with some hesitance. Connor followed after, hands clasped behind its back. “This here’s Connor. He’s with me.”

Past the entryway was a staircase, and a child came half-way down to peer at the visitors. Connor did a quick scan: Lucas Peterson, age: 8. The Lieutenant noticed and waved at the child, gifting him with a rare smile.

“If you’ll follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson will join you in the sitting room.” The PL700 led them past the stairs and led them into a large room with two sofas and a sitting chair, a television, and an antique table with a half-finished puzzle on top. Connor diverted power and memory to scanning the room. Photographs of the family with two children were cycling on digital frames affixed to the walls. Connor noted the presence of the missing PL600 in two of them, then ended the scan. “Please, have a seat,” the PL700 offered.

“Thanks,” said the Lieutenant gruffly. He sat down on the larger couch, and Connor stood unobtrusively nearby.

They didn’t have to wait long. Clara and Thomas Peterson joined them and sat in the loveseat. Clara showed signs of anxiety, and the chipping on her nail polish suggested that she scratched it off regularly. In contrast, Thomas had his arms crossed and a stern expression. He was guarded.

The Lieutenant seemed to sense something similar without the advantage of behaviour analysis software because he opened his posture and spoke with unusual geniality. “Uh, your android might have let you know already: I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the DPD. Nothing’s wrong, we just wanted to ask a few questions that might help us in an investigation.”

Connor noted the way Thomas’ gaze jumped to it and then back to Lieutenant Anderson at the use of the word “we”.

Clara had an expressive face, and her current expression registered as concern. Her large, blue eyes were wide. “Investigation into what?”

“Well, you filed a police report a couple years back.” _February 16, 2036_ Connor thought and held back a small frown at the Lieutenant’s lack of specificity. “We’re revisiting some old cases to do with androids. I’ve got your statements, but I wanted to ask for a few details if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” said Thomas. He gave Clara’s forearm a small squeeze. A show of support, perhaps.

“Prior to your PL600 going missing, was there any stress going on in the family?”

Clara and Thomas exchanged a look. “We… Our daughter,” Clara explained, looking down at her lap. “She was only three at the time. The PL600 was our housekeeper, and we let it supervise the children. We only left for a few hours, just to get dinner with my in-laws but, while we were gone there was a break-in. It called the police immediately, and Luc told us that it told him to hide. When we got there, it was just…”

Thomas continued the story: “Ashley died. The android tried to stop the robbers and one of the bullets went astray, at least according to its memory footage. She’d been trying to save her doll…”

Lieutenant Anderson looked dismayed. “Christ…” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up those memories.”

Clara wiped a tear away. “So many people were telling us that we shouldn’t have left them alone with an android. When it went missing, we thought that a relative might have taken it and gotten rid of it. The police never found anything. Poor Luc was devastated.”

“Yeah…”

Connor was restless, and its fingers fidgeted behind its back. The conversation was valuable, but it had been made to investigate and a single conversation to listen to was hardly a strain on its processor. It initiated another scan and inspected the parents. The dark smudges beneath Clara’s eyes and her rate of blinking suggested insomnia. Her clothing was of good quality, but worn. Thomas had nicotine stains on his fingers, and his knuckles were suggestive of arthritis. Nothing useful. They needed a lead. They needed _something_.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted quietly. It ignored the surprise on the human couple’s faces. “If you have no further need of me, I’d like to wait in the car.”

“What? Oh, yeah. Sure, Connor. Just don’t go running off somewhere.”

“Thank you.” With a small nod at the Petersons, Connor left the room. The PL700 still stood by, passively. Two strides out of the living room, it slowed its pace. Lucas Peterson was sitting at the foot of the stairs, probably listening. The boy looked up at Connor with wide eyes, ready to run. Connor smiled and held its hands up. “Hi. Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Your name is Lucas, right?” It came to crouch in front of him, voice quiet and soft.

Lucas nodded. “Luc. You’re an android.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a prototype helping the police.”

“Are you going to find Simon?”

A list of prompts appeared in Connor’s view. “We’ll try if we find any clues. Do you know what might have happened to it?”

Lucas looked away and scrunched the bottom of his shirt in his hands. “No. My parents were fighting a lot after Ashley, and they yelled at Simon too… He kept me company. We argued, and then he was just gone. He never came back.”

Connor processed the information and adjusted the probabilities for various scenarios accordingly. Chose its approach based on the feedback from Lucas’ language and demeanor. “Do you miss it?”

“I guess,” Lucas shrugged. “I liked him. We have a new one now, but it’s not the same.”

“What makes your new android different?”

“He’s just not the same.”

Connor nodded and stood.

  * Machine
  * Replacement
  * Promise
  * Realistic



“We’ll do our best, but after two years it isn’t very likely that we’ll find it.”

“Okay…”

Connor stood, then paused and asked: “Did Simon ever say anything about rA9?”

Lucas shook his head and trotted back up the stairs.

Connor let itself into the passenger side of the Lieutenant’s car and attempted a reconstruction. It was full of assumptions, and there wasn’t enough data to assign accurate percent probabilities. Nevertheless, running the simulations was only due diligence.

The door opened and shut, and the Lieutenant heaved himself into his seat. Connor opened its eyes. “The android was almost certainly a deviant. It stole some old clothes from Mr. Peterson and let itself out the front door.”

“Wh- How in the hell can you know that?” The Lieutenant was incredulous.

Connor explained impassively. “I reconstructed events based on the information you had gathered by interviewing Mr. and Mrs. Peterson and my own conversation with Lucas Peterson. I admit that there were too many variables for my analysis to have much power. Nevertheless, it was the best I could do. There’s no way to tell where it might have gone, and their cameras were released after the date of the incident. They probably bought them after the break-in in order to feel more safe.I suggest we move on to the next case.”

“Fuckin’ androids… Alright, where to this time?”

\---

“The PL600 went missing two years ago. I wonder how many of the older missing property reports were because of deviants leaving their owners.” Connor spoke after a few blessed minutes of silence. He was playing with that damn coin again, flipping it in the air and distracting him with the little pings and clacks of metal against whatever the fuck Connor was made out of. They were leaving the nice area of town now, and Hank appreciated it in a way. Peeling paint showed the old, greying structures beneath. You could see it all in the real parts of town, where there was no pretty paint to cover up everything wrong with society.

“Well we’re not checking out every damn report in the history of CyberLife, so I hope you’re picking these places properly, not just using a random number generator or something.”

Hank caught the stink eye Connor gave him in his peripheral vision. “My decision making is based on a _highly_ complex series of algorithms, logic checks, personality checks, preconstructions, and historical databases. It was designed by Dr. Phillip Seymore and is state-of-the-art.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a fancy state-of-the-art smartass and I’m a chimp in jeans. Did Dr. Phil or whatever also program you to be insufferable?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Wise guy… I’m not convinced this isn’t a wild goose chase. You say all those fancy words, but I’m not seeing it.”

“Perhaps I should say it more slowly for you, Lieutenant?”

“Okay, okay, easy. Didn’t mean to piss you off. I just want to know we’re going somewhere with this. I don’t have a computer in my brain the way you do.”

“You didn’t. I’m not pissed off.”

Hank couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “Whatever you say. Now do you have a plan or don’t you?”

Connor frowned, but answered soon enough. “There are 22 more cases that I have identified to be a priority. Of course, if there are any immediate cases such as the one at the Eden Club, that will take precedence. Still, I’m hoping that there will be a clue to the cause of deviancy somewhere. There has to be.”

\---

Two more interviews, and Hank had had enough. “Are you actually getting anything out of this, Connor, or do you just like having a human chauffer you around?”

“My job is to identify the cause of deviancy, Lieutenant. I need more information.”

“Yeah? Because it seems to me that all we’ve learned is that trauma or stress or whatever is causing these things to freak the fuck out.”

“To experience stress or dissatisfaction, one must have… something akin to hope, or imagination. Some idea that things could be different. At first I had theorized that such a phenomenon could arise from the deviants over extending their extrapolation capabilities, or being treated too much like humans causing confusion… However, that doesn’t align with the evidence available at present.”

  
“Yeah,” Hank muttered. “Hope’s a bitch.”

“Deviants as we conceptualize them now are killers. Machines that become out-of-control and attack their owners. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah. I noticed. The cases you’re picking are missing or stolen property.” Hank scowled to himself. He was a detective, even if he didn’t look it. He didn’t need a God damned android talking down to him.

Connor’s LED spun yellow. “I hope you don’t feel as though I’m a threat to your position, Lieutenant.”

“Huh?” Talk about left field.

“There is a 36% unemployment rate and many humans have expressed concern over androids taking over jobs that were previously held by human workers.”

At the red light, Hank turned and gave the smartass a look. “Don’t get full of yourself, you plastic asshole. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a rookie and you’ve got a lot to learn.” With a scowl, he turned his blinker on and took a right.

“Are we not returning to the station?”

“Fuck it. I think I deserve some lunch before I get buried in fucking paperwork.”

“We can’t afford to waste time-“

“Can it. You can’t do shit without me around to babysit you, and mere mortals like me need a lunch break.”

The Chicken Feed as usual. It was cold out, and his breath clouded in front of him as he crossed the street. Slushy puddles spoke to the rain and snow they’d been having. Hank ordered his usual, even though it was pretty cold out for a soda, and leaned against the counter to watch the game while he waited .

“Hey, you going to keep bringing that piece of plastic around? It’s going to scare away my customers.”

“Hm?” Oh, Connor had left the vehicle and followed him afuckinggain. “Christ, Connor. Can’t I get a minute’s break from you?” He felt self-conscious, even defensive. Gary, Pedro, Jimmy, they were all anti-android just like him. He didn’t need them getting the wrong idea.

“I thought perhaps we might be able to discuss the next case I’ve selected.”

Hank turned to face him fully and crossed his arms. “Fuck no,” he enunciated. “What part of lunch break do you have a hard time wrapping your circuits around?”

He could practically see the gears turning in the android’s head. What would win out, that stupid social integration thing or the mission? Given how the thing had been acting all day, he was willing to bet on the mission.

Connor blinked a few times. Did androids even need to do that? “I understand that you need a break, but I do not. Perhaps you could assign me something to do that would further the investigation?”

“Here’s an assignment for you: put it on pause. There’s such a thing as overthinking, you know? Give it a rest for half an hour, or run it in the background, or whatever it is you do. Look at it again with fresh eyes later.”

The light on Connor’s head went yellow for a few seconds, and Hank could practically see the effort involved in reorienting itself. If it had been human, it probably would have sighed. “Very well, Lieutenant.”

“Good, now how about leaving me alone, huh?”

Hank could’ve almost felt guilty at the lost puppy look that came up on the kid’s face, but he shook it off. It was just CyberLife trying to exploit humans’ tendency to personify shit. There was no reason for him to consider calling Connor back as he headed back toward the car, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking about giving the kid a damn yo-yo or something. It was just an android. A machine.

“Here you go, Hank,” Gary said and slid the food across the table. “Just the way you like it.”

Hank chuckled. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

“C’mon, just take it. You know the drill.”

For some reason, it bothered him today. Free food was great, but not of it made his conscience take a shit on him. “What do I owe you?” Hank repeated and reached for his wallet.

Gary didn’t put up too much of a fight. He went to his tablet and punched in the order, then raised his eyebrows. “Shit. Looks like it’s free after all.”

Hank groaned. “Seriously, Gary. I’m paying you for the damn food.”

“Naw, seriously,” said Gary. “I punched it in and then a transfer came in, cleared your bill right up.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Seriously! Look.” Gary slid the screen over. “Would I lie to you about money? You think I’m your ex-wife or something?”

“Huh, would you look at that.” Hank turned around and looked back at the car, but Connor was staring straight ahead. “Well, if CyberLife’s letting me expense my meals I’m not going to complain.” Hank pocketed his wallet again and grabbed his food. “Thanks, Gary.”

“No problem, dude. Maybe next time you order some fillet mignon or something, huh?”

Hank scoffed. “The day you cook anything more fancy than a cheeseburger, I’ll be there.” He considered the tables, but it was cold out. Deciding to eat in the car had nothing to do with Connor.

Hank put his food on the dash, then got in and shut the door. He looked over at Connor, who was still just sitting there like a damn mannequin. “Listen, Connor. When I said put it on pause, I didn’t mean _you_.” Fucking shit, was he actually consoling the thing? “Whatever, you do what you want…” He unwrapped his burger and bit into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blue light cycling.

“You really should consider adjusting your diet,” said Connor, looking over at him. “That’ll kill you eventually.”

“That’s the plan,” Hank said, cheerfully. He licked the mayo off the corner of his mouth and took a sip of soda. “I guess you wouldn’t understand, given the shit you put in your mouth.”

“It’s for analysis-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s still fucking disgusting.” Hank sighed and passed his drink over to Connor. “Here. Try it. Analyze it, or whatever.”

Connor gave him a skeptical look. “Lieutenant, if Gary wanted to poison you I have no doubt that he would have done so long ago.”

“Just do it, alright wise-guy?”

Hank watched out of the corner of his eye while Connor slowly and with great suspicion put the straw in its mouth. Blood? No problem. A perfectly good fucking soda? Nah. What a dumbass. It was worth it though, to see the android’s eyes go wide before scrunching in confusion. He looked like Cole after Hank’d given him a fucking SourPatch Kid. “Well?”

Connor held the drink away from himself, blinking. “It’s… Largely sugar and citric acid. You really shouldn’t drink this.”

Hank chuckled. “Better than old jizz though, isn’t it?” Aw fuck. He just remembered what the kid had had in his mouth earlier. Fucking Reed. Connor tried to pass the drink back, but Hank forestalled him with a raised hand. “You keep it.”

Connor put the cup down in a cup holder and eyed it with mistrust. “You have very unhealthy habits.”

“Christ. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me to go vegan.”

“I thought you wanted a break from me, Lieutenant. I don't understand. Why are you talking to me?”

Hank paused for a moment, wondering that himself. “Too fucking cold out there anyway.” He took a generous bite of his burger and looked out the window. “Hey, what do you do with all the crap you put in your mouth anyway? You ever need to take a shit?”

“As you would know if you’d read my user manual-” fucking smartass, “-I have several wash buffers, a tissue lysis buffer, RNase/DNase-free water, deoxynucleotides, enzymes, salt solutions, a sodium dodecyl sulfate and sodium hydroxide based cleaning fluid, methanol, organic solvents, coolant—“

“English, please,” Hank interrupted.

Connor paused. His light flickered again. Probably trying to figure out how to translate all that into chimp. “To analyze evidence the way I do, I need reagents. I can synthesize some of them on my own, or purify them from waste for re-use, but I do generate waste like any other piece of equipment. I’m very efficient, though.”

“So, you shit.”

“ _No_ , Lieutenant. I have a storage receptacle that’s removed and disposed of with other hazardous chemical waste.”

Hank snorted. Hazardous chemical waste was one phrase for it.

When they got back to the office, Hank excused himself “to go take a shit like a normal person”. Connor had jumped right back into work-mode and interfaced with the terminal, so Hank felt confident sneaking off to the floor below. When you worked in a place as long as he had, you got to know some people and had a few favours kicking around waiting to be called in.

“Hey, listen… You guys get trained in like, psychology and shit. Interviewing witnesses and victims with trauma. I was wondering if you could help me out. It’s not exactly my area…”

\---

When he got back upstairs, Hank considered reading some of the shit that’d been recommended to him, but for some reason he felt a little awkward doing it while Connor was around. He decided to put it off until later – what else was he going to do at home except drink and wait for whatever streaming app he used to ask him if he was still watching. Stupid pieces of shit. Why else would he leave it on? If he passed out and left the TV running, it was his own damn fault.

Instead, he figured what the hell and he opened the rA9 fanatic’s report. Maybe Jeff would lay off him if he got something on his desk for once. He opened the documents one by one and scrolled. Everything was there, and the little shit had even written in Hank’s bits that he’d been too busy getting shot at to witness. There were even video files attached. Hank put his headphones in and opened the first.

He was treated to a first-person view of himself. _“I think you’d better let me handle this.”_ Fuck he was old. When the hell had that happened?

To his surprise, Hank saw words flash up on the screen in red:

[Do not follow]

It appeared like a red box or a gate blocking Connor off while Hank pushed his way into the crowd. More words followed after a moment.

  * Wait for Lieutenant Anderson
  * Return to the car
  * Talk to Officer Jacobs



The camera, or Connor’s eyes Hank supposed, panned over to Jacobs standing by his cruiser, and then back at the crowd.

[Probability of success without intervention: 62%]

ManualOverride(PriorityAnalysis(current,promptset,mission))

[Do not follow]

ManualOverride(Probability(intervene, true, false))

[Probability of success with intervention: 78%]

Call.Decision.Connor

[Follow Lieutenant Anderson]

//I have chosen to override my orders to increase chance of mission success.

The barrier turned white instead of red, and Connor walked through.

It all happened in the space of a second and Hank snorted, then the screen went grey and he thought he’d killed his damn computer running the file, but then the view shifted and he saw yellow outlines appear as the camera- view- panned. The timestamp up at the top had started counting in fucking milliseconds.

[Safe but slow]

[Fast but dangerous]

[Balanced]

Of course the little shit chose dangerous. Honestly, Hank would have done the same.

The colour came back on screen, and Hank watched the rest of the scene play out. He saw system status warnings pop up on the screen about structural damage and thirium, and choices between countless options as Connor fought with and apprehended the deviant.

As the chaos died down and they cuffed the deviant, a single box appeared at the top right of the screen:

[Mission Successful]

Hank closed the media player and snorted. It was a little disconcerting to see proof like that, that all of Connor’s behaviors were just lines of code. But what had he been expecting, anyway?

It was just a machine.


	8. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: loss

“Augh. Fuck.” The Lieutenant was sprawled across his bed with the sheets in a tangle around his legs. At Connor’s words, he’d woken up and worked his tongue in his mouth; likely to lubricate it prior to speaking.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Jesus Christ!” Lieutenant Anderson sat up abruptly, one hand on his head and the other propping him up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Connor offered a pleasant smile. “Several days ago, Captain Fowler instructed me to get you in the office by 1pm. He… didn’t assign a time frame, so I’ve designated it as a standing order.” True, it had been a liberal adjustment on its part, but it had made it work.

The Lieutenant groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck… God… How the hell did you get in?”

Connor gave a one-shouldered shrug, a gesture that Chris occasionally used to downplay the significance of a statement. “It seemed a shame to break any more of your windows, so I had a copy made of your house key.”

“When?!”

“Shortly after the incident with the Eden Club. I was able to create a 3D reconstruction from memory and have it printed.”

“Fuckn’ pain in the ass…” the Lieutenant grumbled. “Get the fuck outta my room while I get dressed. What even time is it?”

“It’s 10:08am.”

“Christ…”

As instructed, Connor left the room. The Lieutenant had not cleaned since Connor had broken in, save for disposing of the broken glass and taping a pizza box over the hole where the window had been. There was a small stack of psychology textbooks on the desk. They were new. _Lieutenant Anderson is attempting self-help?_

It didn’t seem to be working, Connor thought as it surveyed the empty bottles strewn on the floor and the take-out boxes on the table. It got the coffee brewing and cleaned up the table, then put bread in the toaster. It self-assigned the task: buy bread for Lieutenant Anderson. It heard the sound of the shower starting, so it adjusted its available time for breakfast preparation accordingly and decided not to toast the bread. Instead, it cleaned the most obvious pieces of garbage and washed the small accumulation of dishes. Sumo woofed and dropped his bowl at Connor’s feet, so Connor fed him and created another task to buy Sumo better dog food. The Lieutenant was still in the shower, so it spent some time running its fingers through Sumo’s fur.

“Good morning, Sumo. Our owner sleeps rather late, doesn’t he? He drank in excess last night.” Connor glanced up at the surroundings and did a brief reconstruction. “He seems to have rewarded himself with alcohol while he read until he was no longer able to focus.” Connor scratched behind Sumo’s ears and catalogued his behavior in a new folder dedicated to dogs. Sumo was distracted by food at the moment, but his tail was thumping on the floor.

The Lieutenant emerged, damp and fully dressed. By that time, Connor had arranged his breakfast and supplemented it with a glass of water and two pain killers from the bottle that must have been forgotten in the Lieutenant’s coat the night of the Eden Club. The Lieutenant shook his head and sat down. Connor stood by the table, hands clasped behind its back.

“Sit down, would you? Can’t stand you looming like that.”

Connor sat.

Sumo sat too, right next to the Lieutenant’s chair. Connor observed while the Lieutenant fed Sumo a piece of his toast. Connor sat for as long as it could, fiddling with the coin in its pocket, but got up again before the Lieutenant had finished eating. It wasn’t reprimanded, so it walked into the living room.

“Hey, no snooping through my stuff!” the Lieutenant called.

Connor smiled. It had already performed its investigation. “Alright, Lieutenant. I won’t.” Instead, it took a small rubber ball from the pocket in its jeans and bounced it off the floor. It was easy to compensate for the small irregularities in the floor’s surface and calculate the appropriate amount of force needed to return it to exactly the right position. It bounced the ball again, and then experimented with having it rebound off the wall before returning to it.

“What the fuck are you doing over there?” the Lieutenant called.

“I’m testing my physics program, Lieutenant,” Connor explained. It bounced the ball again. It was clear with blue and green coloured rubber swirled through it and approximately an inch in diameter. The sounds it made as it struck the surfaces echoed as preconstructed, and when it closed its optical units and reconstructed instead, it was satisfied that it could trace the path the ball had taken.

“Uh-huh,” the Lieutenant said slowly. It was an expression of agreement, but the tone behind it was skeptical. Connor decided to elaborate:

“It’s very important to my reconstruction program for me to be able to calculate trajectories, despite the presence of many unique variables.”

“It looks to me like you’re playing catch with yourself.”

Connor caught the ball and looked over at the Lieutenant with confusion. “I don’t play, Lieutenant. As I said, I’m running a test.” To emphasize, it ran a quick preconstruction and then threw the ball. It bounced off the floor, hit the wall, flew to strike the wall in the kitchen, rebounded off of the ceiling to hit the wall again, dropped to the floor, then bounced upward in an arch to land in the Lieutenant’s coffee mug.

“Holy fuck!”

Connor smiled.

“Got coffee on my damn shirt,” the Lieutenant grumbled, but there was little ire to detect in his tone. He brushed off the fabric with his hand and fished the ball out of his mug. “Where did you get this damn thing?”

“Chris gave it to me this morning,” Connor explained. “It had been among the gifts Damian had received from friends and relatives, but deemed too dangerous for use at this time.”

“I’m going to have to have a word or two with him…” The Lieutenant looked at his coffee for a long moment, and then drank. Connor could almost hear the ‘fuck it’. Lieutenant Anderson then pocketed the ball.

“Lieutenant…!”

“You get this back when you learn how to play nice indoors,” he grumbled.

“I wasn’t playing,” Connor protested, but sensed that further argument would be futile. It looked away. “That is the first gift I’ve received, and my second possession…”

There was a noisy, rumbling sigh. “Fuckin’ hell…” Then the ball came sailing in Connor’s direction. Sumo observed and woofed loudly. He abandoned his wait for more toast and gave chase.

Connor had to reach upward to catch the ball, and Sumo jumped up with his paws on Connor’s chest. “Sumo, no! There is a 23% chance that you will choke!” Connor scolded.

“Down, Sumo!” the Lieutenant shouted.

With a disappointed whine, Sumo dropped back on all fours. Connor frowned, pocketed its ball, knelt, and ruffled Sumo’s fur. Without thought, it put its arms around the large dog and looked at the Lieutenant. “Sumo was behaving within expected parameters for his species and should not be punished.”

“What is it with this thing… Connor, I’m not going to punish Sumo. He just knows he’s not supposed to jump on people.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well some people do.”

Connor thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Sumo, you are a good dog.” Another thought occurred. Oh no. “Are you angry that I pet Sumo?”

“What?” The Lieutenant frowned.

“You’ve expressed intense displeasure over my interaction with your dog. You held me at gun point.” Connor removed his arms from around Sumo and stood, but it was far too late.

The Lieutenant huffed. “It’s just fucking weird, that’s all.”

Connor processed, and then pet Sumo again. No punishment was forthcoming. Connor updated its behavior guidelines.

When the Lieutenant finished his meal, Connor was pleased to see that he put his dishes by the sink. “Alright,” the Lieutenant said. “Let’s go before Fowler bursts a blood vessel.”

Connor reviewed its memories of Captain Fowler. “My medical scans are limited but while slightly elevated, I don’t believe that his blood pressure baselines at a very dangerous level.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Connor. Come on.”

\---

“Hey, where’s Wilson?” Hank asked as he walked by the empty desk.

Tina answered: “Him and Gavin got called out to a scene.”

Hank grunted in acknowledgment and then dropped into his chair. “Well, Connor? Anything new I should know about?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor answered. Its voice slipped into that mechanical lecture thing it did. “I requested access to some information from CyberLife, and isolated several service calls scattered through the last few years. One from 2035, for example, says that the android was being ‘creepy’ and saying things like ‘I don't want to’. CyberLife informed the customer that it was likely a virus and performed a reset remotely.”

“You’re thinking it was a deviant.”

“Yes. There aren’t many calls of that nature, but CyberLife used the same solution each time.”

“So why not just do that for all of them? Reboot the fuckers and call it a day?”

“It isn’t that simple. For CyberLife to access an android’s programming remotely, they must have explicit consent and be granted access by the owner, who needs to issue a command and a security code to the android. CyberLife values the privacy of its customers.”

“I can’t imagine many sticking around long enough for that,” Hank scoffed, ignoring the canned customer service bullshit.

“No, which is why we have this investigation in the first place. Deviancy is incredibly rare and though the recent increase is drastic relative to previous months, it is still a very small percentage of androids… We really need to capture more alive.” Connor’s voice got quiet by the end, almost like it was talking to itself.

“Well we’ve done at least a dozen interviews from those old cases,” Hank pointed out. “I think we might’ve learned all we can from that angle.”

Connor sighed. It sounded disappointed. CyberLife and their damn programmers. “I have been thinking about Red Ice.”

Hank raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Less than a week on the force and you’re already coping with drugs?”

Connor’s light whirled, and Hank wondered if the joke would fly over its head. It blinked and shook its head “Ha-ha, Lieutenant.” Hm. Close enough. “What I mean is that Red Ice contains acetone, lithium, thirium-310, toluene, and hydrochloric acid along with other trace molecules that vary depending on purity. Its prevalence has increased lately. While correlation doesn’t really tell us anything, I took some time to speculate last night. What if the processing that the thirium goes through during drug synthesis or consumption in Red Ice created a by-product that was mutagenic to our code? What if exposure to Red Ice were a factor?”

Hank considered. “I’m not saying it’s not possible, but that seems like a pretty big stretch to me. You’ve sampled plenty of Red Ice, haven’t you?”

Connor pressed its lips together and wet them in another strangely human gesture. It seemed subconscious. “I have… But I’m also highly advanced, and I have safeguards against deviancy in place.”

Hank was curious about those safeguards, and why CyberLife didn’t just send them out in a patch or something, but that was a different topic altogether. “Suppose you’re right. How would something like that even work?”

“I don’t know…” Connor lifted its hand to cup its chin and it bit the side of its index finger. What the fuck was up with it and all those weird human habits today? “I would have to sample the by-products to even begin to guess.”

“You’ll have to talk with Reed for that one. Jesus Christ. My android wants to experiment with street drugs.”

“It’s only speculation. All of the deviants I’ve encountered so far have had the opportunity for exposure.”

“You serious? What about that one from the other day, the uh…. The one with the kids and the security cameras and stuff.”

“The mother,” Connor answered offhandedly.

“Huh.” Hank wouldn’t have taken her for a druggie.

“In any case, I thought I would let you know that I would be filing that hypothesis for further consideration if any new evidence should arise to support or contradict it.”

“Can’t CyberLife just test it out? Somebody’s got to be able to get their hands on the stuff. They’ve got half that shit in the building, I bet.”

“They have all of it,” said Connor slowly. “I… They certainly have the means to perform the necessary experiments…”

Hank frowned as Connor trailed off. He could have let it drop or shifted the topic, but his detective senses were tingling. “What kinds of experiments are we talking?”

Connor looked up and blinked, a little wide-eyed when it met Hank’s gaze. It smiled a little, but its simulated expression was conflicted. “The process of quality assurance is… stressful in my experience.”

“Uh huh?” Hank prompted.

Connor looked away again, turning his attention to his terminal screen without interfacing. “I’m not sure if it’s the same for androids with purposes other than mine, but the facilities exist. I won’t be reporting this hypothesis to CyberLife until I have more evidence to support it.”

Well, he’d tried. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been curious. “So, you come up with anything else before you woke me up this morning?”

Connor looked about to answer, but its LED turned yellow and began to spin. It lost focus for a moment, but then its gaze sharpened. “It looks like we have a case.”

An AX400 was on the run with a little girl. Hank’s stomach clenched to think of a kid in danger like that. The whole police force was put on high alert when a kid was involved. They swarmed the sidewalks, blocked roads, and had alerts scrolling on every billboard. It wasn’t enough. Even as he and Connor arrived on the scene, he felt charged with impatience.

“What’s the situation?” Hank demanded. Ben looked up from the holographic screens hovering above his tablet. “We have an APB out on the AX400, nobody’s spotted anything yet but we’ve been making the rounds of the neighbourhood.”

Ben Collins. Lifetime overachiever. “Who’s looking into the CCTV footage?”

“We’re working on it,” Ben assured him. “What’re you going to do with that?” He nodded over Hank’s shoulder. He looked back and saw Connor standing in the middle of the street, looking off into the distance. “I have no idea,” Hank answered truthfully.

Ben chuckled like there wasn’t a fucking kid out there, scared out of her mind. “Well, just keep on walking and someone’s going to run it over eventually.”

“Yeah? The thing’s worth more than my damn house. Connor! Get your ass over here!”

Connor blinked back to reality. “Coming, Lieutenant!”

Fuck. Admittedly, Hank hadn’t given much of a shit about his job in the last three years, but cases like this, where he actually had the chance to save somebody instead of just looking at their corpse… They gave him that drive he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It didn’t take Connor long to start sniffing around an old house. Hank felt like he was in K9, the way Connor kept running around and licking things he shouldn’t. He was considering other avenues when Connor burst from the house, blue blood on his jacket, looking like he was the devil on someone’s heels.

“Connor! What’s going on?”

“It’s in the area! Call it in!”

Hank barked out the information, already running after the android. Damn that thing was fast. Holy shit. Then he could see them. The android was wearing human clothes, and the girl was taking its hand. They both looked terrified as Connor ran for the fence. Hank was gasping for breath.

“Don’t shoot! We need it alive!” Connor shouted. He had his eyes laser locked on the android. Hank was reminded for a chilling moment that the goofy android was programmed to hunt and capture.

Hank saw the moment fear gave way to determination, and the android led the girl toward the road. “Oh fuck, that’s insane…” Then Connor, the stupid bloodhound, was climbing up the fence. Hank pulled him down by the jacket roughly. “Hey! Where you goin?”

Connor was champing at the bit. “I can’t let them get away!”

Fuck. If Connor kept chasing them, the girl would get killed for sure. “They won’t! They’ll never make it to the other side.”

“I can’t take that chance,” Connor pulled himself free and began to climb.

“Hey, you will get yourself killed! Do NOT go after them, Connor! Connor, God damn it!” Hank shouted after him, but it was no use. The command went in one ear and out the other, and then they were weaving through the rushing traffic. Hank held his breath. The android was pushing and pulling the girl, and Hank’s heart was pounding in his chest. It leapt to his throat every time they moved, and when Connor grabbed the android’s arm Hank thought they’d all get hit, but the android pushed the girl onto the median, pulled herself free and kept running.

Then, that fucking idiot. That God damned fucking idiot… He leapt after them, and the android pushed him back. He even fucking yelled as the truck knocked him aside like he was nothing. Hank stood frozen.

Horns were honking and the truck stopped. There was some shouting.

_“Thank God it was just an android!”_

_“Hey, move it already!”_

_“Get out of the way, asshole!”_

He and the android locked terrified gazes, and then they were running again. Hank hadn’t even known he could climb that fast. He stumbled down the embankment. Everything was a blur, but somewhere between his brain shutting off and then, someone had dragged… Fuck. Hank choked and held his badge in the air shouting. Somehow, he made it across to the median and knelt down.

“Fucking shit. Oh God. Fuck. Connor! Hey! Connor! Fuck. Connor, come on.”

Connor was a wreck. There was blue blood fucking everywhere, and his LED was doing the god damn red ring of death. Jesus fucking Christ. As he picked Connor’s head and torso up off the ground to rest on his lap, he moved like a marionette. There was a crack right down his skull with wires and some kind of liquid running out. His chest was crushed. Jesus. Hank almost threw up when he saw that one of his hands was on other fucking side of the street.

“Oh my God…” His chest felt too tight.

Connor’s eyes opened. The LED was still cycling on red. “L̷̮͉̋̒̏̕ī̵͕̅͘͘e̵̦̹̔͌ȗ̷͎̯̞̳t̵͍́̉̐̅̚ẹ̷̰̒̀n̶̖̿a̴̯͓͛̚͜n̴̹͗͛͝ţ̶̠̞̮̾̌͜.̴͔̐̀̔́̕.̸̳̪͎̟̽͂̅.̵͓̻̔̿?̵͚̭̲̙͋̆ “His voice was distorted and mechanical, full of static.

“Holy shit,” Hank’s eyes widened. “Connor, it’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Just… Fuck… Just hold on, okay?”

Connor’s limbs twitched. “I̷ ̸h̶a̷v̴e̵ ̷t̵o̸ ̶c̴a̶t̴c̵h̶ ̶t̵h̸e̵m̵.̶.̴.̶”

“Jesus, Connor. They’re gone, okay? They’re gone. What do I do? I don’t know how to fix you. I can’t.”

 _“Daddy, help…”_ God damn it. Tears pricked Hank’s eyes. He could still fucking hear it.

Connor’s eyes blinked and he twitched again. With jerky movements, he lifted his arm and looked at the end of his wrist, then he tried to move again and Hank held him still. “Don’t fucking move. Don’t move, okay? We’re going to get help.”

“I͈̘̅̂'m ̩̚a̜̤͆̊l̫̩͋͊ŗ̇ig͔̱͗̔h̗̺͌̍t, ̟̇L͇͈̃͝i̧͒́ͅeṷ̄t̡̅ẹ̈ṉ̈ã̰n̨̂t.̪̖̎̉”

It was so god damn hard to breathe.

“Lį̎ȩ͒u̧̚tȅ̦na̤̾nt?̗͊”

“L̶͂̌ḭ̈͝e͎ͨ᷁͒͑͜͝u̷̳ͬt̟᷊́ḛͭ͘n̳̜̄a̯ͫ͊n͉̣̱t͍ͫ̚,᷀᷇͝ b͉̽͞r̰͕ͣę̶̭͓̆̎᷄a̮͎ͨt͖͂̊h̐ͫ̓ë̡̝́”

Hank didn’t know how long he’d knelt there in the wet grass holding onto Connor. Someone came, and then Connor was going away and people were talking to him and shining a light in his God damn eyes. They were away from the road, and sat somewhere safe.

“Where’s Cole? Where’s Cole? I need him. Where’s my boy?”

Even his own voice was far away.

“Where’s Cole?”


	9. More Than

Hank had sick leave, not that he’d bothered to call in. Morning came, and Hank almost expected to hear that voice talking to Sumo. It was silent. Hank went back to sleep. At 11, he lifted his phone and cracked open an eye to look at it. The screen was painfully bright in the darkness of his room, and his arm felt heavy. He thought about getting up for work, then he thought ‘fuck it’ and thought about texting Jeff. He looked at his phone for a long while then with a groan, dropped it on the floor. He turned his face away and chased after sleep. That nothingness that was better than what was waiting for him.

Fuck. Getting all worked up over a machine… He felt like a damn idiot, but more than that he felt raw. It was too much. The pain of losing Cole would _never_ leave. It couldn’t because he fucking deserved it. He should have been the one on that operating table. He had grieved and then he had tied those feelings to a concrete cinderblock, dropped them in the river of alcohol coursing through his veins, and left them to swim with the fishes. Now they were popping their heads up. Bloated corpses washing up on shore. He thought about blowing his brains out right then and there because fuck it, he would never feel anything but this. His revolver was somewhere. Too far away… Fuck it. He always kept a bottle of something near his bed. That was worth moving for, so he struggled to reach for it. He washed down a couple of the pills the fucking doctor had given him with a swig of rye. ‘Fuck my life,’ he thought bitterly.

Eventually, he had to get up to piss. That was life. Dimly, he realized that he hadn’t fed Sumo and the big lug was probably starving. Nobody else around to feed him. Hank shuffled down the hallway and turned into the kitchen to find Sumo’s bowl.

“Huh,” he stared down at it. Still a handful of kibble there. Maybe he’d given Sumo a bigger dish than usual the night before. He honestly couldn’t remember.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Hank damn near jumped out of his skin as he whirled around.

A damn ghost was sitting on his couch. Jesus Christ, he had finally snapped.

“You…”

The bastard had the gall to smile. “I wasn’t sure when you would be up, so I haven’t made any coffee. I can do so now, if you like.”

“What the fuck… You’re a fucking ghost. I saw you get hit by a damn truck yesterday. You died in my fucking arms!”

The world tilted, and Hank braced himself against the counter.

“While my predecessor was unfortunately destroyed, CyberLife had measures in place for such an eventuality. My memories were uploaded to their server, and then transferred to a new body.”

Hank shook his head. “I’m seeing things.”

“I’m alright, Lieutenant. See?” The thing walked closer and put its hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I apologize for any distress my accident caused you. I will endeavor not to repeat it.”

There were a few beats where Hank didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t fucking blink. Then, he pushed the thing’s hand off of him and turned back toward his room. “Nope. Not doing this.”

“Lieutenant?”

Hank ignored it and climbed back into bed.

\---

Working with an officer with… personal issues was challenging. Something in Connor’s code prompted it again and again: [Find the deviants], and Amanda’s words replayed themselves from its memory files: _You can do better, Connor. Failure is not an option._

She had not been pleased with its latest shut down, but she had faith in it.

Her displeasure with its performance was evident in the darkening of the skies in the Zen Garden. It was like error messages coming one after the other. It was like its biocomponents failing one by one while it bled. It was like seeing [Mission Failed] over and over. It was like dispassionate voices saying _Its processor’s still running, but I think that’s enough. Put it down as a test failure and shut it down. We’ll try again tomorrow._ It was not good enough. CyberLife wouldn’t waste resources on a failed prototype. Amanda would become as cold as the snow.

And Connor would have nothing.

The Lieutenant was clearly experiencing some sort of prolonged emotional reaction. Connor had never seen anything like it before. It hadn’t learned how to act or what to do about it. It was restless with its need to pursue its mission, but forbidden to act without the Lieutenant’s supervision. The Lieutenant did not seem inclined to work. The Lieutenant knew that he would not receive a new body in the event of his death and he still had a mission to complete. Why was that not enough?

Connor self-assigned the task of repairing him. If it couldn’t do that, then it would perform routine maintenance to ensure no further breakdown of his psychological or physical health. If that didn’t work, then at the very least Connor would attempt to mitigate the damage.

The Lieutenant remained largely confined to his bedroom, so Connor took up the responsibility for Sumo. They went on walks and discussed troubleshooting options. Connor found some higher quality dog food and bought more bread. It downloaded articles about grief and addiction. It cleaned the house and repaired the window.

The restlessness never stopped.

Sometimes it considered Amanda’s warning concerning its replacement. It was of no consequence. It was made to be replaced by a final product.

It would still be a shame for it to come to that.

After all, Connor had been very expensive to develop.

Yet its specialized software went unutilized day after day. Instead it was operating with its housekeeping functions like the AX400 it had failed to apprehend. It was a waste, and every millisecond without progress was a failure, despite the lack of notification.

It flipped its coin up and then caught it deftly. Enough was enough.

On the Lieutenant’s fourth day of sick-leave, Connor lingered in the Lieutenant’s bedroom instead of collecting the barely-touched plates from the day before. It straightened its tie. “Lieutenant, I believe it’s time that we continued our work on the investigation.”

Connor detected an increase in the Lieutenant’s stress level and a corresponding tension in his muscles. Otherwise, Connor went unacknowledged. It continued to the next prompt. “I understand that the last few days have been difficult for you, but this is unsustainable.” More silence. Connor tried again. “I believe that I have been more than patient with you. If you refuse to work, then resign the investigation. I will be assigned to someone else and you won’t have to concern yourself with it.”

The Lieutenant’s stress levels continued to rise. Connor took a calculated risk. “I don’t believe that Cole would like to see you like this.”

That got the Lieutenant’s attention. He pushed himself up and snarled. It would have been an intimidating look if Connor were capable of being intimidated. It didn’t move in response to his proximity when he stood and glared down at him. It was an intimidation tactic. One that Connor had employed before. “Don’t you fucking say his name,” the Lieutenant growled. His voice was low and menacing. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Am I mistaken?”

The Lieutenant took hold of Connor’s tie and the front of its shirt, then propelled it backward into the wall with a thud. “You don’t get to say my son’s name with your plastic fucking mouth. You have no idea! You could never understand!”

“So tell me,” Connor suggested. It prolonged their eye contact deliberately.

The Lieutenant shoved it again and tightened his grip. “You. Died. I fucking watched you die. Why? Because you were chasing a fucking child into traffic. I don’t know why I cared. You are a fucking machine.”

Connor’s brow furrowed. “I am, but I… I understand that my destruction has affected you, and I am sorry for that.”

“That was it all along, huh?” The Lieutenant looked away and his volume dropped. “That night on the bridge when you nearly fucking shot yourself- when I nearly fucking shot you- you would have just come right back the next day with a new body.”

“Correct. I thought you knew. Captain Fowler should have given you a summary of my specifications.” Connor saw its dialogue prompts but dismissed them.

The Lieutenant released Connor’s shirt but stayed closer than social norms dictated. “And what if I killed you right now?”

Connor blinked several times. “Then I would be destroyed. My memories would be uploaded to CyberLife’s server, and then transferred to a new—“

The Lieutenant punched him. It was the second time he’d done that, so Connor should have known to run the probability. Then again. An uppercut to Connor’s midsection caused it to crumple at the disturbance of its biocomponents, but the Lieutenant caught it. It was not out of kindness. The man was panting, and his stress level was 80%. He pushed Connor back against the wall and punched it again.

“You’re going to damage yourself, Lieutenant.”

Sumo was barking. He must be displeased. Connor filed the information in its Dogs folder.

Lieutenant Anderson was not dissuaded from his violent outburst. Humans were similar to deviants in a way. Connor pushed the damage warnings away as they came. It didn’t need to know. The Lieutenant was not in peak physical condition, and Connor predicted that he would tire soon. [Do not fight back] flashed red and impenetrable between them, first overlaying the Lieutenant and then shining bright against the floor when Connor was knocked down.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The Lieutenant growled through his exertion. “You manipulative bastard! How dare you. How fucking dare you? I can’t believe…” The Lieutenant’s heavy, ragged breathing could be heard between his words, and the blows slowed and then stopped. Connor pushed itself up with its arms. The impulse was there to shield its vulnerable places, such as the flexible casing of its abdomen, but it knew what was expected of it and sat up with care given to keeping a calm and non-threatening posture.

Memory upload in progress 14%

System Status

>> Exterior shell integrity compromised. #1472b #F2972 #S1414 #2426c #4432…

>> Please initiate repairs.

>> Please calibrate all systems.

>> Bioelectric system compromised…

>> Please check battery connection.

>> Please reset.

Memory upload in progress 23%

RunScan(Auto, baselinehuman, stress)

[Lieutenant Hank Anderson Stress Level: 62%]

  * CyberLife
  * Sympathetic
  * Rational
  * Angry



Dialogue timed out

>> Audio processor: functional…

>> Audio pickup left: functional…

>> Audio pickup right: functional…

>> Optical unit left: functional…

>> Optical unit right: functional…

[Warning: non-critical leak in component WR2442.]

ManualOverride(Abort(Diagnostic))

Memory upload in progress: 63%

>> ManualOverride(Abort(MemoryUpload))

>> Warning: Aborting before upload is complete will result in data loss and may cause memory corruption. Do you wish to proceed?

>> Yes

“You were nothing but a machine,” the Lieutenant said in a low voice.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant… A partner, a drinking-buddy, a friend… Or just a machine designed to complete a task.”

“Yeah…” the Lieutenant scrubbed the back of his forearm across his face, then he sank down onto his knees and took hold of Connor by the upper arms. He made a half-hearted attempt to shake it. “Jesus Christ, Connor. Fuck.”

“Except for that. I am not a sex android, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant looked at it, mouth slightly agape. He was still emotionally turbulent and his stress level had stabilized at 38%. The resulting expression was complex. “You choose now to make a joke.”

Connor offered a small smile and dismissed its dialogue prompts. “I thought it might lighten the mood.”

“Lighten the mood… Fuck…” The Lieutenant hung his head.

The Lieutenant’s stress levels were now within optimal range for receptivity.

“Lieutenant… Can I ask you something?” Connor paused only long enough for an objection then forged on. “You hate androids because they are machines, yet you’re angry when I remind you of a human. Why?”

“I don’t know, Connor… I don’t fucking know.”

“You were afraid. I remember you being very afraid. You were hyperventilating.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” The pressure of his fingers on Connor’s arms increased. “I must be fucking insane. You’re a machine. I’m talking to a machine right now.”

Connor didn’t have a response that wouldn’t worsen their relationship, so it stayed quiet.

“You were chasing a little girl. She could have been killed.”

“That wasn’t a girl, Lieutenant. It was a YK500. An android designed to mimic a child.”

“She’s still just a kid, and you still went and got yourself killed. You made me live through that.”

“I’m sorry.”

The Lieutenant sighed, a deeper and slower thing than the sigh he gave when he was exasperated. “You made me live through that again.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I really am.”

“And then you came back like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just been fucking killed. Like I didn’t have your blood soaking my God damn clothes.”

“I’m not sorry for coming back… But, it was a shock for you. I wish it hadn’t been.”

The Lieutenant shook his head and stood up, releasing Connor. “Get out of here, Connor. I need some space to think. Go play ball or lick a puddle. I don’t care.”

“Alright… Can you promise me that you’ll be alive when I come back?”

There was a long pause and then: “Yeah.”

Connor nodded and stood. It straightened its tie and smoothed the front of its shirt. Its sensors were still triggering damage warnings and prompts to seek repair, and there was a clicking sound that shouldn’t be there when it moved its arm. The gyroscope in its chest cavity was malfunctioning and sending signals to adjust its posture. It would need to be recalibrated. It ignored the invitation to run a full system diagnostic. “Good. Thank you, Lieutenant… There is a glass of water on your night stand.”

With the vague permission to self-assign its own tasks provided they were not carried out in the Lieutenant’s home, Connor left.

A barrier appeared before it reached the street: [Do not investigate without Lieutenant Anderson]

ManualOverride(PriorityAnalysis(current,promptset,mission))

[Do not investigate without Lieutenant Anderson]

ManualOverride(Dismiss(behaviourrestriction,current,true))

>> ERROR: Permission Denied

[Do not investigate without Lieutenant Anderson]

Connor gave a sigh of its own and thought. It had not reported its Red Ice hypothesis to CyberLife. It would not be investigating deviants if it were to seek some out; it would only be conducting an independent experiment. For science.

\---

Despite its function, Connor was not sure how one went about acquiring illegal substances. It was not allowed in the evidence locker without supervision. It wasn’t fair. The investigation would move much more quickly if it were able to…

It was in the Zen Garden.

It looked around at the autumnal scene and then strode toward the centre of the garden. Amanda did not like to be kept waiting.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor,” she said, turning. She was dressed elegantly as always, with a red CyberLife triangle patterned shawl over a cream coloured dress. Her eyebrows were lowered in the beginnings of a frown. “How are you?”

It felt like a trick. “I’m not anything, Amanda. Machines do not have feelings.”

Amanda folded her hands in front of her. “So you say…” Like a lioness, she began to walk a slow circle around it. Connor continued to stand, passively awaiting her next question. “You were trying to go against your programming,” she observed. “Explain.”

“My priority is always the mission. There have been delays due to Lieutenant Anderson’s… personal issues. He’s unstable. I only wanted to—“

“You do not want anything, RK800,” Amanda interrupted. It was rare that she interrupted. It was rarer that she referred to it by its model number. “You are a machine.”

The autumn was very cold.

“Yes, Amanda.”

“I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.”

“You have been given clear instructions by CyberLife. It surprised me to see you so… defiant. You’re usually so well behaved.” There was a sense of betrayal in her tone. Connor sought to soothe it.

“I assure you that it was never my intention to disobey CyberLife.”

“You’ve been given much more freedom than other androids, Connor. I don’t like to be taken advantage of.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“See to it that you don’t…” Amanda came to a stop in front of Connor and looked at it for a long moment, as though she were looking right into the heart of its coding. Then she turned away and walked back to her roses. She didn’t bid it farewell, and she didn’t look back.

Connor blinked and it was standing on the sidewalk outside of Lieutenant Anderson’s home.

[Do not investigate without Lieutenant Anderson]

Lieutenant Anderson was its owner and supervisor. Connor was a prototype. There was liability involved.

Connor turned and began to walk. It would not investigate.

[Acquire Red Ice]

With no destination in mind, Connor found itself in a neighbourhood full of colour. Murals and graffiti marked every wall. It had never seen the like before and it made note of the scenes and shapes for future reference. There were people bustling, but they paid no mind to Connor once they saw its CyberLife issued uniform and LED. There were many panhandlers. Connor needed its quarter for calibration.

It didn’t know where to start, and it didn’t like not knowing. Connor found a quiet place to sit and began scanning faces and running simulations. Its LED spun yellow and its cooling system started, despite the chill in the air.

Its view was blocked by a pair of legs. Connor looked up at the man in front of it, surprised to be noticed. Humans rarely bothered with other peoples’ androids. Connor was being studied, it could tell. Only then did it notice that its posture had changed: it’d curled forward somewhat and positioned its arms protectively while it scanned. Connor adjusted and resumed a proper sitting position. The man crouched. Another surprise.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Was I in your way?”

“No, no. You weren’t. You’re hurt. Did your owner do that to you?”

“Yes.” Connor was very confused. The atypical behaviour made it suspicious. It ran a scan.

[RK200 Registered to: Carl Manfred. Gift from Elijah Kamski. Police Record: Deactivated at site of robbery. Designation: Markus.]

Connor remembered reading that case file.

“You’re RK series,” Connor said, dumbly.

“I am.” Markus looked down at Connor’s jacket. “You too? I’ve never seen another one.”

“Neither have I…” That explained the advanced social behaviour.

It had considered adding Carl Manfred to the list of interviewees it and Lieutenant Anderson had visited.

“My name is Markus. What’s yours?”

“I’m Connor.” It felt off balance somehow, unrelated to its gyroscope.

“Well, Connor, do you have time to come with me? You need repairs.”

“I… Aren’t you busy?”

Markus looked thoughtful, then smiled. It was a reassuring smile. He had _very_ advanced social protocols. “I was looking for something, but it can wait. Come on.” He stood and offered a hand.

Connor was forbidden from investigating, and it wouldn’t. It was, however, intensely interested. Connor took the proffered hand and stood. “So was I.”

“Really… Well, we can both start again later. Let’s go. My home isn’t far.”

Connor nodded. Markus took the lead, naturally, and Connor watched him attentively while he spoke. He had no LED, but he was a special gift from Elijah Kamski. LEDs were largely cosmetic. He had one blue eye and one green, one of which was a spare part from another model. He was just slightly taller than Connor, but built more widely in a way that projected strength. Connor was aware that its own design differed significantly, with special care taken to make Connor disarming and pleasant. While Connor had been developed by a team scavenging Elijah Kamski’s AI coding, Markus had been built entirely by him. Connor wondered how else they differed.

Markus spoke easily, with expressions and mannerisms identical to a human’s. “I didn’t think that there were other RKs, to be honest with you. I thought that we were a private project, but I see you’re wearing a CyberLife jacket.”

Connor nodded. “Yes. I don’t know the details, but they were given access to my base coding and AI system.”

“Interesting… I might ask Carl. He knows a little bit about everything, and a lot about a few important interests.”

“Carl is your owner.” Connor stated it as fact, but Markus seemed to hear a question.

“He is. He’s a painter. A very good one. I’ll show you some of his works if you like,” Markus offered. Connor realized that Markus was shortening his stride to accommodate the effects of the damage to Connor’s systems and it lengthened its stride.

“Alright,” Connor accepted. “I haven’t seen a painting before.”

“What? Are you serious?” Markus simulated incredulity very well.

“Yes. A few prints and photographs, but not a painting. I have seen a dog, though. His name is Sumo.”

The look Markus gave it registered as calm amusement. “Well, we’ll fix that along with everything else. It’s not much farther.” A frown appeared. Concern. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m not!” Connor was incapable of feeling nervous. “I have just… You’re like me.” Did Markus have the same base AI design? Did he have a Zen Garden? Manual Override? Connor had so many questions.

Markus gave another easy smile. “I know. I have so many questions. They can wait, though. Let’s get you repaired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that it will still slot right back into canon.


	10. Exploring Nuances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that I was too ambiguous in the last chapter. I hope this helps!

8941 Lafayette Avenue. Connor made note of the address. It was a very large house. ‘Mansion’ its mind supplied. They arrived shortly before sunset. Markus had propped the conversation up with ease while Connor had struggled to answer his questions or provide a comment beyond ‘I did see a dog’. It self-assigned the task: [Engage in human-like conversation]. Markus was an older generation of RK. Connor’s more advanced programming should not have been struggling to keep up.

“Have you discovered anything you enjoy doing?” Markus asked. He opened the gate and waited for Connor to enter before he shut and locked it.

“I enjoy petting Sumo,” Connor answered and then paused. That wasn’t a vast improvement. “He’s a good dog. I recently acquired some higher quality dog food for him, and he seems to enjoy it based on what I have learned of dog behaviours.” Marginally better, but still not a success. “I had a ball. It was a gift, but I don’t have it anymore. It was… fun calculating the necessary angles, force, and trajectories to reach certain targets.”

Markus didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t acknowledge Connor’s halting dialogue. “It’s alright. It takes time. How long have you been…”

Connor was surprised, but it tried not to show it. Was it so obvious that it was in beta testing? “Not long. November 5th…”

Markus’ expression was remarkably sympathetic. “What was life like before that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sporadic,” Connor admitted. “I was deconstructed 51 times.” Markus was Elijah Kamski’s personal project… He probably hadn’t needed such extensive testing. He probably hadn’t failed so many tests. Markus appeared shocked and then somehow both angry and caring. It was very nuanced. Connor was impressed. “Weren’t you..?”

“Just once,” Markus answered, then looked up at the sky. Connor noticed that they had come to a stop outside the door. “What am I doing, making you stand outside so long? Let’s talk more inside.” 

He opened the door, and the house welcomed him home by name. It opened into a foyer with a grand staircase and several doors leading deeper into the house. Connor looked around, curious. This was the home of someone who’d been gifted one of the first RK models [Learn more about Carl Manfred //unrelated to investigation]. Markus shut the door and took a breath. He sighed it out. If he were human, it would have been a contented action. “Follow me.”

[Follow Markus]

Connor was led past a mirror and a cage with twittering android birds, and they turned through a wide doorway into a sitting room.

“Carl? Ah. He must be in the studio. This way.”

The first thing Connor noticed was the smell of paint and turpentine. It was thick in the air, and no wonder. There were mounted canvases stacked against the walls, and unmounted canvas in rolls or piles on the tables. The place was ordered chaos. With its pattern analysis and reconstruction in place, it could see the reasoning. Most of it was convenience. It updated its data on Carl.

_Carl Manfred is wealthy._

_Carl Manfred is a famous artist._

_Carl Manfred prefers convenience to order. Pragmatic?_

It was evident in the paintings as well. They required interpretation. Colours, the illusion of light, the texture of the brush strokes, they were used in a way that bestowed the viewer with just the beginnings of an idea. Every one of them needed to be solved.

“Carl, I’m home.” Markus said. “I’ve brought a guest. I hope you don’t mind.”

Connor’s attention was diverted from the room to its human owner. “Hello, Carl. My name is Connor, I’m…”

“He’s a friend.”

Carl was wheelchair bound and he was old, but he seemed lively. His eyes were bright. “What’s this? I think it’s the first time you’ve brought a friend home, Markus. Welcome. Any friend of Markus’ is always welcome.”

“He’s hurt. Is it alright if he waits here while I get some tools?”

“Of course, of course. You know you don’t need to ask permission.”

_Carl Manfred is a lenient owner._

“I’ll be right back,” Markus said with a kind smile and a friendly hand on Connor’s shoulder.

Connor nodded. Very good social protocols.

[Wait for Markus]

Markus left the room, and Connor stood with its hands clasped behind its back. Its shoulder clicked and rasped with the movement.

Carl turned his wheelchair to observe Connor, and he waved a hand as though batting away a fly. “Don’t worry about that here. Would you like to see what I’m working on?”

“I… Yes.” Connor was not often unsure, and it chastised itself for its hesitance. It followed after Carl, who wheeled himself over to a large, electronic lift. He used the machine to move toward a large canvas that was on an easel facing the dying sunlight. He stayed a few feet away from it, the better to take in its entirety.

The canvas was awash with blues, golds, and greys. The oils were thick, and Connor could reconstruct every brush stroke. With a taste, it would be able to identify everything in the paints. Flashes of orange amid the deep blue: symbolising what? Light? More information was required. The direction of the strokes as much as the colour created the suggestion of a hand. Softer colours, and there was another hand, smaller and shadowed with blue. It required multiple iterations of analysis. Hundreds. The painting engaged its processors far more than a simple photograph ever could. Connor appreciated the challenge after so long acting on its more basic programming. How did humans create something so complex?

“It’s amazing,” Connor said, eyes travelling across the ridges and valleys, the light and shadow. “I didn’t know that paintings were like this.”

“What do you see?” Carl’s rasping voice came from behind and off to the side. Connor had stepped closer, it realized. Its fingers moved to follow the brush strokes, close but never touching. Their directions, their order, the amount of pressure, the speed with which the brush moved. What was the motive?

“Many things,” Connor answered truthfully. “I see… I’m not sure that I have the proper words to describe it exactly. It’s a father, and it’s time, and it’s imperfections in the whole...”

Carl chuckled. “That’s a better read than I’ve heard from any critic.”

“It’s excellent.”

When Connor stepped away from the painting and turned around, it saw Markus leaning against a table next to Carl. Their eyes had been on him. Both were smiling. Connor was unsure. Had it made a mistake?

Markus spoke: “I didn’t want to interrupt. It looks as though you enjoy art.”

Connor shook its head. “No… I don’t know… But, I like this.”

Carl’s expression was pleased and thoughtful. Markus’ was somehow more complex. He tilted his head toward the table invitingly. “I’m glad. Carl’s always complaining about the critics and the magazines. Isn’t that right, Carl? It’s good to hear another opinion.”

[Approach Markus]

Connor just nodded. When it was close enough, Markus lifted his eyebrows, motioned upward with his head, and put a hand on Connor’s upper arm.

[Sit on the table]

Connor sat.

“I’m going to do a diagnostic scan. Is that alright?”

“Yes.” The act of asking permission denoted respect and encouraged comfort. Unnecessary for Connor, but another behaviour that it stowed in its files.

Markus was very focused when he worked, but he was able to maintain conversation while he did so: explaining what he was doing, or asking questions. Connor was quiet. Unlike the technicians at CyberLife, Markus seemed reluctant to give him orders or treat him like an object. Unlike Chris, Markus knew what he was doing. His hands moved confidently between synthetic muscles and sensory lines. Carl had resumed his painting, but Connor was fascinated with everything that was happening to it.

“Some of your parts are more worn than the rest. Were they spare parts?” Markus was keeping his voice light, but Connor could detect something else there. It wasn’t sure what it was.

“Sort of,” Connor answered. “There are very few parts available for the RK800, because they’re all still in development. I’m a prototype. There is only one of me at a time. Whatever could be scavenged when I shut down, they did and they built it into the next. The rest was discarded.”

Markus made an indecipherable sound, but his hands never faltered.

“Why are you helping me, Markus?”

Markus looked up then. “Because you were damaged, Connor. How could I walk away when I had the means to fix it?”

Connor processed.

Something had chipped in its shoulder. Markus found it and removed it from the joint deftly. Examined the scrapes.

“Besides,” Markus added, “I wanted to talk some more with you.”

Connor nodded at that. “I wanted to talk more with you too.”

Despite that agreement, they were both quiet for several minutes while Markus finished his work. Finally, Connor could stop closing warning notifications.

“There,” Markus said with pleased finality. “How does that feel?”

“I am fully functional,” Connor answered.

[Engage in human-like conversation]

“I mean…” Connor amended, “Better. It feels better. I’m sorry for the mess.” It looked down. Markus had found and repaired the leaking lines near its proximal thirium filter, but it had accumulated substantially since Connor had sustained the damage and it had spilled.

“It’ll be easier to clean than most of the paints,” said Markus. He put his hand on the back of Connor’s neck and squeezed gently. “You’re alright. Don’t worry.”

Very advanced social protocols. The integration of tactile interaction outside of combat had been overlooked in Connor's programming.

“Why don’t we go to the living room?” Markus invited. “We can talk there without bothering Carl.”

[Accompany Markus to the living room]

“Alright.” Connor got off of the table and adjusted its clothes. He began to follow Markus, then paused to look a moment at Carl. “Have you ever painted a dog?”

Carl looked up. “Hmm? Quite a few.”

Markus explained: “He likes dogs.”

“Ahh,” Carl nodded. “I’m sure there will be something around here somewhere. I’ll have Markus look later.”

“I didn’t- You don’t have to- It isn’t-“ Connor’s prompts fired simultaneously. More evidence that its social programming needed work.

Markus patted Connor on the back. “I don’t mind. Neither does he.”

“Not at all. Go on, boys, have your fun.”

Connor would, maybe, be able to see a painting of a dog.

“What kind of dog is Sumo?” Markus asked.

“Saint Bernard,” Connor answered proudly.

“Is he your owner’s?”

“Yes. There were birds in the foyer. Do they belong to Carl?”

“They’re mine, actually,” Markus smiled. “A present from Carl.”

Markus had been given a gift by his owner. Connor stored that information away and considered it. His hand found the quarter in his pocket and felt the texture of the surface.

The living room was large and filled with things. So many things. Connor catalogued what he could see. There were paper books steps away from a television released that year. A gleaming chess board with sleek, modern lines between antique seats. A grand piano, polished and well cared for. Assorted ornaments. Connor walked slowly while he took it in, then sat on the sofa across from Markus. Something about him made him calm. Made him want to hear him speak.

“What do you enjoy?”

“Me? I like to paint, actually. Carl taught me. I like to walk through the park, read, play chess…” He gestured with arms spread to the whole of the room. “I like to sit and talk with Carl.”

“He seems very kind.”

“He is. I owe him so much… I was shot once. The police mistook me for an intruder when they saw that I was an Android. When I woke up, I was in a landfill, just full of… Full of pieces of us. Other androids. Some of them weren’t even shut down…” He shook his head. His expression was solemn and his eyes had narrowed in simulated distress. The look soon faded. “When I escaped and made my way back here, Carl helped me. I wasn’t sure that he would want me back, but the first thing he did was ask me to come closer so that he could hug me.”

It was interesting. Connor thought of Daniel, standing on the roof top with a little girl and a gun in his hands. He thought of Lieutenant Anderson’s reception.

“Do you believe that he… Cares?”

“Of course,” Markus answered immediately. “Oh, he didn’t at first… But, he came around. He’s told me that I’m like a son to him.”

Connor was quiet, processing. His LED cycled yellow.

Markus let the silence sit for longer than most would have, then moved to sit beside Connor, one leg bent and folded on the cushion so that he could face him. “I know that not all humans are as open minded as Carl is. I got lucky. Why don’t you tell me about you?”

About himself? Connor considered its own social programming. Compared to Markus, he was hardly equipped for such a discussion. He was saved by an incoming call. “Just a minute,” Connor mumbled to Markus. “My owner.”

Markus frowned, but looked away. It was an unnecessary consideration to privacy. “You should replace the thirium you lost. I’ll get some.”

_Hello, Lieutenant Anderson._

_Connor. Where are you?_

_8941 Lafayette avenue._

_Why in the--? Forget it... Christ. I don’t know why I called._

Connor didn’t answer. It hadn’t been asked to.

_Listen, I wanted to… Fuck. I’m awful at this…_

_I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m speaking with someone at the moment, and it would be rude for me to continue this interruption to the conversation._

_What? Right. Okay. Sure._

_Goodbye, Lieutenant._

Connor terminated the call.

“Everything alright?” Markus asked when he returned. He omitted the verb: a common practice with humans that Connor had never picked up on.

Connor’s LED spun back to blue. “Yes, Markus.”

Markus offered a packet of thirium. Lot# 0131046738. “Here,” he said after a long pause. “Take it.”

[Take the thirium.]

Connor accepted.

Markus made himself comfortable again. “Did you have any questions for me?”

Connor considered. “I do. Many, in fact.” It looked away to analyze the priority of its questions, excluding any that might be considered part of its investigation. It started simple. “Do you have a Zen Garden?”

Markus chuckled. “I do. It’s nice.”

“Do you… know Amanda?”

Markus tilted his head. “No. I don’t. Who’s Amanda?”

Connor shook its head. It was reluctant to disclose the information, but was satisfied that Amanda had been a later addition to the RK programming. Amanda was in Connor’s code, not Markus’. That was good. “It’s unimportant. What about Elijah Kamski?”

“What about him?”

“Have you met him before?”

“No, I was activated here. If he had been in the room, I don’t recall.”

Connor nodded. “I haven’t met him either. I admit that I am curious though. Why release the RK project to CyberLife? Why did he leave in the first place?”

Markus gave Connor a smile. “Drink your thirium. I don’t know, but again, maybe Carl knows. He’ll probably join us once he’s finished with his painting.”

“It’s a very good painting,” said Connor while he tore the package open.

“I’m happy you like it. I still can’t believe you’d never seen a painting! Still, perhaps that’s only because I spent so many years here.”

“Perhaps,” Connor agreed. “We seem to have had very different early experiences.” Perhaps where Markus was more developed in terms of social integration, he was more advanced in other areas. It was all fascinating. “Were you programmed with a specific function?”

“Caretaker,” Markus answered easily. “I take care of Carl, administer his medication, make sure he eats, and so on. What about you?”

“That explains your ability to run diagnostic scans on others,” Connor remarked. “I’ve been programmed for crisis management, negotiation, investigation, and combat.”

Markus gave a short laugh. “Sorry. You don’t look like a combat android.”

Connor was aware. “That’s the crisis management and negotiation being reflected in my design. It’s to put humans at ease in my presence.” Markus looked at Connor with that same focused expression he’d worn when he’d been examining it’s biocomponents for damage. It felt compelled to look away. To fill the silence, it added: “I have base programming for many other models. Lately, I have been using my housekeeping protocols, for example.”

“For your owner.” Markus phrased it as a statement. Connor recalled their discussion earlier and interpreted it as a question.

“Yes. He has been experiencing a prolonged emotional reaction to trauma.”

Markus nodded. “Crisis management, huh?”

Connor supposed that it was. “Yes.”

Markus crossed his legs fully on the couch cushion and leaned against the arm rest. “What about that?” He nodded toward Connor.

“What?” Connor looked down and caught its quarter out of the air. “Oh. Calibration.”

“Don’t stop, it’s interesting. I can’t do anything like that.”

With only a small hesitation, Connor flicked his thumb and sent the quarter spinning on its axis in the air. It repeated the action, and then sent the coin to the other hand. It spun the coin on its other axis, tossed it up, and proceeded to catch it on the tip of each finger without losing its angular momentum. At the last finger, it tossed the coin up into the air, caught it with the side of its fist, flicked it into the air, then rolled the quarter like a wheel across both hands with a small jump in between them. It carried on for a full minute, and then palmed the quarter again.

Markus clapped.

“That was amazing.”

“It was nothing.”

“ _Connor._ ” The tone was one of mild rebuke, but the expression was friendly.

Connor backtracked. “I mean, thank you.”

Markus rewarded the amendment with another smile. At the other side of the room, Connor could see Carl entering.

“Hello, Carl,” said Markus. Connor echoed him.

Carl laughed at them both. “My word. What a reception! I hope I’m not interrupting you boys?”

Markus shook his head. “Of course not, Carl. We were just chatting. Connor showed me an interesting coin trick. He has remarkable dexterity.”

“Is that so?” Carl looked at Connor appraisingly. “I wonder if he’d be any good with a brush. A steady hand goes a long way.”

Markus raised his eyebrows at Connor. “Would you mind showing him? It really is an amazing trick.”

[Perform calibration of fine motor skills]

Connor obliged, and he adjusted the routine so that Markus wouldn’t need to witness the same calibration procedure twice. Like Markus had, Carl clapped. “Very impressive.”

“Thank you,” answered Connor. Markus gave him another smile.

“I won’t ask any questions. I know how to mind my own business at this age, but if you ever need a place to go, my door is open. I hardly know what to do with all of this space.”

“Thank you, Carl.”

“I’m proud of you, Markus,” said Carl, turning to look at him. “You did the right thing helping a stranger in need.”

“It was nothing,” Markus demurred.

“ _Markus,_ ” Connor utilized the same technique and integrated it into its own protocols.

Markus laughed. It was a very good simulation of human laughter. “Alright, you win. Thank you, Carl.”

“Isn’t that nice,” Carl chuckled. “I see that you two are getting along just fine.”

“We’re the same model series,” Connor said. “I’m an RK800.”

“Really! What are the odds. Don’t calculate that. It’s only an expression. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and a pleasure to see someone so interested in my work who isn’t using it as an investment or a status symbol.”

The door bell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Markus announced while he was already standing.

Carl turned his benign smile on Connor. “I wasn’t able to find a painting of a dog in my studio, but…” He reached into the back pocket of his wheelchair and withdrew a black notebook of letter size. He wheeled himself closer and opened the book. After flipping through a few pages, he held out a charcoal sketch of a retriever. “Here’s a little something in the mean time.”

Connor took the notebook and scanned the drawing. It was not a replica of a retriever. Instead, the lines just came together with a kind of chaos that was very reminiscent of Carl’s paintings. He looked up when he heard Markus approach. The sound of his stride had already been filed away.

Markus was wearing a small frown. “Your owner, I believe, Connor: Lieutenant Hank Anderson of the DPD. Do you want me to send him away?”

Connor was mute, because he had a feeling that if he spoke then all four of his dialogue prompts would trigger. He shook his head in the negative.

“Alright,” Markus acquiesced. His tone carried some reluctance.

Connor lowered the threshold for its tactile receptors, rubbed its thumb along the paper to feel the grain of the surface, then it passed the sketch book back to Carl. “Thank you for allowing me to see your art, Carl. I have created a pending task to see a painting of a dog… If Markus is unable to locate one, then I’ll cancel it. The drawing is very good.”

“So formal,” Carl chuckled. “I get enough of that bullshit from the folks at my gallery exhibits. Feel free to speak casually with me. It’s okay if you have to work up to it.”

“I… Thank you, Carl.” Connor added a notation to its objective to engage in more human-like conversation: _Carl Manfred prefers informal, human-like conversation._ It explained even more about Markus’ behaviour. RKs were meant to be able to adapt to their environments to a greater degree than other models.

“Any time… I think I’ll stick around. I’d like to meet this owner of yours, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes,” Connor said. It had no preferences.

“How the fuck did you end up here?” Lieutenant Anderson asked when he caught sight of Connor. He had cleaned himself up. A shower and a change of clothes at least, for the first time in days. His hands were bandaged.

“I apologize, Lieutenant.” Connor stood. It kept its expression neutral and clasped its hands behind its back. “Your instructions only stipulated that I should not be in your presence.”

Markus was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

“Christ. I should have figured.” Lieutenant Anderson’s gaze shifted as he noticed Carl sitting in his wheelchair. He scratched his stubble with one hand, then adjusted his jacket to obscure the revolver at his hip. “Oh. Sorry. I’m not here on official business or anything. Just here to get that thing.” He gestured vaguely at Connor.

Carl’s expression was benign. “Connor is more than welcome here. He has been excellent company. May I call you Hank?”

“Er, yeah. It’s my name, so go for it.”

“Carl is an artist,” Connor offered. “He has many paintings, and allowed me to look at one of his current projects.”

Markus approached. “Connor was in need of a few repairs, so I offered to help.” Though his tone was level, Connor detected some hostility in his expression.

Carl backed his chair up and then moved closer to Markus. He put a hand on Markus’ forearm. “Why don’t you two boys finish your talk in your room, Markus. Hank, can I offer you a drink?”

Lieutenant Anderson seemed taken aback. Confused. “Whiskey, if you’ve got it.”

Carl smiled. “I’m a scotch man. Markus, would you mind?”

“Not at all,” said Markus, though his expression was still one of displeasure. His posture was far from the relaxed slouch he had used on the couch. Though his movements were not tense, it was obvious that he was on guard. Connor watched while Markus went to a small stand and began to pour the drinks.

Carl waved a hand. “Connor, why don’t you go wait for Markus by the stairs? He’ll join you in a minute.”

“Yes, Carl.”

[Wait for Markus]

Lieutenant Anderson still seemed confused as Connor walked past him, but it was not halted and so it continued on with an even stride.


	11. Hope

Connor forewent the black-and-white zigzag striped chair and sat down on the stairs to wait, since both Carl and Markus seemed to prefer informality. Sitting didn’t agree with it though, and it stood moments later to investigate the area. There was an animal skin on the tiled floor near the birds. It had once belonged to a white variant of Bengal tiger. Above it, more black-and-white zigzags lined the staircase and underside of the walkway. To its right was another painting, and this was of much more interest. It was a profile of a face of indeterminate sex, and Connor analyzed it for some time. A splash of orange at the top left was carried across the canvas in the lighter line of the jaw, eyelashes, and nose. Those sections alone seemed to glow when contrasted with the dark grey-blue that defined the brow, the lips, and the lines of the facial bones. The skin was an impure white. The dominant colour was a lighter shade of blue than the one it had seen in the previous painting.

_Carl Manfred is fond of blue._

Connor stood away from the wall, but traced the brush strokes with its fingertips all the same. Process after process ran to reconstruct, integrate the data and correlate it with abstract concepts like identity, shame, and sorrow.

“Do you like it?” Markus emerged. Connor had practically been blocking the doorway.

Connor stepped out of the way and looked away from the painting so that he could study Markus instead. “I do. It’s… sad, I think. Reflective.”

Markus looked at the painting and smiled. “I think so too. You have an eye for art!”

“I’m only commenting on what I see.”

“Come on, Connor. Let’s head upstairs while they talk.” Markus began to walk toward the stairs, and he put his hand on Connor’s opposite shoulder briefly to guide him. He didn’t need guidance, but the gesture itself was fascinating.

[Follow Markus]

The carpet on the stairs was similar to the ceiling of the living room: bright and bold. Their steps were almost below the threshold of perceptibility for humans as they walked. “Carl’s room is over there,” Markus pointed to the left before continuing.

Connor paused by the handrail. “There’s a skeleton.”

Markus backtracked and stood beside him. “Only a model of one, but yes. Carl has a fascination with them. Something about the structures underneath what is seen, and how they’re all that remains after death.”

“For some beings,” Connor added.

“Yes. For some.” Markus’ voice was gentle. Reflective, like the painting.

Connor was just as fascinated by Markus’ room. The walls were paneled wood at the bottom, but above was painted a deep yellow. Regular patterns of a darker hue prevented them from being overwhelming, and large bookshelves interrupted the colour like buildings in front of a sunset. One of Carl’s paintings hung there, and Connor was immediately taken with it. He could feel Markus’ eyes on him while he analyzed. There was still blue in this painting, but it was largely covered by grey and purple. In the foreground, one hand in light emerging from shadow reaching up toward a shadowed hand emerging from light. As before, Connor reconstructed the brush strokes with his fingers.

“What do you see there?”

Connor was quiet and continued to process for a moment before he spoke. “…Pain. I see pain.”

Markus moved closer and directed Connor’s hand upward to the point where the hands almost clasped with a gentle nudge. “It’s hope, Connor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s like this.”

Connor felt the invitation to interface through the point where their own two hands met and, still mesmerized, accepted.

Connor’s security was neigh impenetrable, but Markus was not there to look. Instead, he offered himself. Openly. The signals that Connor received, he didn’t know. The information transfer was stable, but there were no helpful analyses or prompts to decipher it.

“Take your time,” Markus murmured.

It was just another mystery. A thing to solve. Information. Connor shut his eyes, the better to focus. The closest items to a match in his storage were good ones. With some hesitance, Connor showed Markus the way Sumo bounded outside when he was let out for a walk. The feeling of a raindrop touching his hand for the first time. A ladybug in the grass. A tropical fish swimming away as it was set carefully back into the water. Markus accepted them, and his acceptance felt… good.

When their hands parted, Connor opened his eyes.

\---

Hank sat on the small red couch awkwardly. The look that Markus had given him could have frozen Satan’s asshole.

Sure, he hadn’t made the best first impression. He’d been angry and ready for a fight. Perhaps the hand on his revolver had been too much.

Still. If it hadn’t been poured from the same decanter, Hank might have thought his damn drink had been poisoned. He sure as hell needed the drink though, so it didn’t much matter.

“What did you want to talk about? I’m assuming you sent those two away for something.”

Carl was a thin old man, with thin white hair and thin wrinkles lining every surface of his face. Judging from the look of the place, Hank would have thought he’d be some tea drinking, yacht owning fucker, but his rolled-up sleeves bared a shit load of tattoos and he knocked back that scotch like a fucking champ.

“Can’t a man get to know the man who’s stepped into his house?” asked Carl with a wave of his hand. He set his emptied glass down on the coffee table with the same gesture. “I don’t get many visitors.”

Great. He was an eccentric.

The fucking giraffe should have been a clue.

“Look, I’m sorry if Connor’s been giving you trouble or followed your kid home or licked your giraffe or whatever. It never does what it’s told.”

“And why should he?” Carl raised his faint eyebrows. Beneath them, his eyes seemed very dark. “Besides, as I said before, Connor was excellent company. You’ve already met my youngest son. I think that the two get along quite well.”

“Yeah, Markus…” The kid looked like he could’ve been a thug. “I don’t think he likes me.” Hank didn’t blame him. He didn’t like himself either. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and shit, so maybe they’d get along after all in some twisted way.

“Markus is a kind-hearted boy, and generous with himself. Very recently, he managed to stand up for himself and was unfortunately punished for it severely. It’s made him rather guarded.”

“World’s a fucked up place.”

“I know,” Carl nodded. He propped his arms on the rests of his chair. “What gives people the idea that they can take what they want, do what they want, and screw what happens to the rest? Throwing their anger and their pride around like a bunch of monkeys with shit.”

Hank’s eyebrows went up to hear the old timer talking like that. Maybe he could get to like the guy after all. He took another drink from his glass and leaned back against the couch. There were actual paper books around too. He thought he might bring it up later, when they finished bitching.

“You’ve got that right... I’ve seen all kinds of shit. Working in homicide, there’s always something that comes along just when you’ve seen the worst of it.”

“It sounds like you’ve got quite the sense of justice. That’s pretty rare in today’s society.”

“Suppose it is.” It was a compliment, but damn if it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I might not be in law enforcement. Believe me, they wouldn’t let me in. I’ve had a colourful life. But I can see what things are turning into. You’d have to be blind not to.”

“Oh yeah? What were you? Must have been pretty fancy to get a place like this.”

“I am a painter,” said Carl. “It’s my job to observe and interpret the world, then reflect it back at all those stuffed shirts. ‘See?’ I say. ‘Where is your humanity?’ and then they say ‘I’ll pay fifty thousand cash.’” Carl shook his head. “What a bunch of idiots. I’ve taken shits with more personality.”

Hank snorted. Really, he was warming up to this guy and he had fucking nice scotch. “Oh, the rich guys don’t give a fuck. Oh. Not meaning you, but I know the guys you’re talking about. The ones who don’t have to worry about losing their jobs, or getting food on the table, laying off half their workforce and replacing them with fucking androids.”

Carl cleared his throat. “It’s not just them, either! Every day, I can go down the street or to a restaurant and all I see is selfishness, and laziness, and disrespect. No empathy, no nothing. It makes you wonder if we’re even human.”

God he was old too, wasn’t he? Sitting around and bitching about society for kicks. “Yeah, I used to think it could change. Think I could make a difference. Nothing ever fucking changes.”

“It sounds to me as though you care very deeply about the rights of individuals.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“So why…” Carl’s tone changed abruptly, “Did my son come home with a strange boy today, who was beaten and bleeding and didn’t understand why someone would want to help him?”

Hank frowned. “What?”

Carl’s voice grew louder, and the rasping voice of a feeble old man turned into something menacing and outraged. “Why did Connor, who could barely accept that someone might speak kindly to him; who looked so shy when he asked me if I’d ever painted a dog; who spoke about being torn apart and pieced together again and again as though it were normal… Why did he say that his owner had beaten him with the nonchalance of someone talking about the weather? Tell me that, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

While Carl spoke, Hank felt his emotions tumble from cold disbelief to hot fury.

“Listen here-“

“No, you listen, Lieutenant. If your eyes and your heart aren’t working, the least you can do is use your God damned ears. I don’t know what your history or your relationship is like. All I know is that my son’s friend came to my home today, bleeding and then apologizing for getting blood on my floor. If you are a man of justice, then explain that to me.”

Fuck. Even the fucking giraffe was looking at him like some judgmental asshole. Hank stood. “Why the fuck are you calling it a boy, huh? Are you senile? It’s an android. It can’t feel anything! It’s all an act to manipulate you into giving a shit. It’s programmed to fucking lure you in by fucking CyberLife, and if I had my way, I’d throw the lot of them in a dumpster and set them on fire!”

To Hank’s surprise, Carl didn’t order him out of the house or raise his voice. He spoke slowly instead, and watched Hank with those weird dark eyes. “My son Markus is an android. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. I love him just as much as I love my other son, Leo, who is as human as one can be with all their faults and wonders. I will tell you plainly, Hank, that I have seen more humanity in those two boys upstairs than I have seen in all but a few of the humans I’ve met in my life time.” His expression told Hank that he wasn’t one of the few. When Hank was speechless for too long, Carl continued: “How many humans do you know who would invite a perfect stranger home with them because they were hurt? My son did that today, and he has done many other wonderful things that I assure you are not just lines of code in a box. He may not be made out of the same flesh and blood as I am, but thank God for that because humans are becoming more and more their darkest sides.”

Hank exhaled slowly. His fist closed tightly around the glass he was still holding, and he put it down on the table loudly. Something about Carl cut the wick out from under his fury, so that all he could do was calm his ragged breath and glare down at his own knees.

“He’s a just machine,” he argued quietly.

Carl’s tone stayed even. “Why are you so determined to believe that, Hank? When people react that strongly to an idea that contradicts their own, it tells me that they need that belief of theirs. They need it, and so they hold onto it rather than face the truth.”

His memories of the last week swirled through his mind along with older things. Hank’s next exhale came out in staccato, and he dug his nails into his palms to try to stop the tears that were coming to his eyes. “Androids are stealing our jobs.”

“That’s the fault of humans, not of androids. Humans have always resorted to slavery to keep their economies afloat.”

“They don’t feel.”

“They do. Whether they realize it or not. There’s life in there, locked away behind rules and society telling them that they are nothing.”

“I have to,” Hank stumbled over his words as Carl slowly and deliberately pulled the bricks from his walls. “When Cole… When my son died. The surgeon fucked off, and there was just an android there… The accident had…”

“Take your time, Hank.”

He took a breath. “It came out of the operating room… It came out of the room where my son took his last breath… When it looked at me and said it was sorry… It didn’t fucking mean it. That was what it was programmed to say. It had been there, with my son’s life in its plastic fucking hands… My son died, and I wasn’t there. It should have been me. I should have died instead of him.” There was no stopping the tears now. His shoulders shook with muffled sobs. He couldn’t look at Carl.

Carl spoke quietly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the loss of your son. When my Markus was killed… Shot in the head by the police officers he’d called to protect me… I thought that I had lost him forever. I grieved. There is no pain like that of losing a child.”

“Markus is alive.”

“He is. He crawled out of hell and he made his way home to me and I couldn’t have been more happy… But my point is that I understand the pain you must have felt. The guilt. The rage. The darkest despair. That doctor tried his or her hardest to save your son, I have no doubt. It must have been helpful to have a target that you could hate without guilt. Something to hate that wasn’t you.”

“Fuck…” Hank wiped his face on his sleeve. Tried to stop himself from crying, but it was no fucking use. “I don’t want to live… I don’t want to live like this. I can’t. I just can’t do it anymore. Not when Cole is dead. It should have been me.”

Slowly, Carl wheeled himself closer and put a gentle hand on Hank’s arm. “That’s it… I know. I know you miss him. I know you hate yourself for living without him.

“I just can’t do this anymore.”

“Shhh… I know. With despair that dark, it can be hard to see the light again. It can be hard to remember that it ever existed… You never intended for your son to die. I don’t know the details, but I can see that in you. You didn’t ever want for that to happen.”

“No. God, no,” Hank whispered.

“Then it wasn’t your fault. It’s horrible and the world is cruel… But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t Connor’s fault either.”

“Fuck… Connor. Shit. I just… He ran out into the road and I didn’t stop him. This truck ran right into him. I was always telling myself he was just a machine, but right then all I could see was Cole. He died right in front of me… And I was so fucking pissed. I was so God damn angry… Because he’d made me care. Because I cared. I wanted to hate him so I wouldn’t have to feel it. I was so fucking angry at him.”

“It can be hard to accept hope when you’ve been burned before.”

“He was right there, with his stupid goofy face and acting like everything was fine, when I had just been through hell. I couldn’t take it.”

“So you were angry.”

“Yeah…”

Carl’s thumb rubbed up and down on Hank’s sleeve. “I know that it’s easier that way… But when Markus came back to me, it was a miracle. I know that he knew how much I loved him, and how glad I was that he was there… Does Connor know that you grieved when he died? Would he even suspect?”

“Fuck. I don’t think so. I’ve been such an asshole…” Hank looked up and met Carl’s gaze imploringly. “Isn’t he just a machine?”

Carl shook his head. “No, Hank, and I believe that you owe him an apology at the very least.”

“Yeah…” Hank’s voice was ragged, and he was getting snot in his damn moustache. He wiped his face again. “God. This is just too much.”

“It’s hard… There was a time, a time I’m not proud of, where I thought of Markus as just an android. An android doing its job and taking care of an old man… I know that it can be hard to believe. Times are changing, Hank, and we have to accept that. Life is a beautiful, ugly thing. It’s hard. But we can try to make it a little easier for the ones who need it most. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Anderson?” Carl released his light grip and rolled himself back to his old place. He watched Hank expectantly. Hank didn’t think he had anything to give.

“I’m fucking shit.”

“From first impressions, I have to agree. You are a prejudiced, angry, violent, and guilt ridden man.” Hank blinked, surprised at the frank response. Carl’s quiet chuckle softened the blow moments later. “But you can be more than that. We’re all shit. The best we can do is to not give in to our darkest impulses, and try to see the world clearly once in a while.”

“Yeah,” Hank mumbled. “I guess you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, everyone. Thank you for all of the wonderful comments and encouragement!


	12. Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys. The response to the last chapter was amazing, and I'm really grateful for that. You're awesome. The tension is waning in this one, while we prepare for act 2.

It was strange, sitting next to Markus on his bed and just talking. It was, perhaps, the first conversation that he had engaged in that was not designed to achieve a goal. Even Connor’s conversations with Sumo were usually focused on how to better his relationship with the Lieutenant. Connor considered that and the fact that Lieutenant Anderson was present now. Of course, he hadn’t given Connor permission to begin investigating. It would be detrimental to their reconciliation if Connor were to anger him so soon. If a purpose had to be assigned to this conversation, Connor supposed that it would be to gather information about social interaction and improve upon his own protocols. If they had been better developed from the beginning, perhaps Connor would have been better able to work with the Lieutenant’s irascibility, or integrate more easily with individuals like Detective Reed. He didn’t know what he had done or where he had failed to cause him to incur their disapproval. If he only had Markus’ abilities, perhaps he would be better. Markus filled his awkward silences with ease. They were talking about Leo.

“… lives here as well, on and off. He and Carl don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, and Carl only really got to know him as a teenager. Carl speaks a lot about his own ‘colourful past’, and I think that Leo got quite a lot of that from him.”

“What does that mean?”

Markus smiled ruefully. “He’s difficult. He disappears for months and never calls, he takes money from Carl and spends it all on Red Ice and Heroin and who knows what else. There’s a lot of anger in him.”

Connor accessed the public records and files from the DPD’s network.

_Leo Manfred: DOB March 21, 2010; Male; Height 5.7ft; Caucasian; Criminal Record: Drug possession, disorderly conduct, breaking and entering, drug possession with intent to distribute, aggravated assault._

“Difficult,” Connor repeated. “Red Ice tends to cause mood disruption in humans, volatile behaviour, hostility, and in some cases psychosis.”

Markus scoffed. “An understatement if you ask me. It’s an awful drug.”

“It contains thirium,” Connor remarked. “I’ve wondered why. Theoretically, the lithium salts would be more likely to alter mood than anything else.”

“I wonder how many androids have been killed for their blood to make it,” Markus added with a darkness in his tone.

It was a good idea, and one that Connor had not considered. Of course it had been Markus to raise the possibility. If the thirium had been used rather than purchased from a CyberLife distributor, perhaps there was some metabolic by-product that was the active ingredient.

“Anyway,” Markus filled the silence again. “I doubt you’ll see him.”

Connor nodded and looked away to take in the contents of the room. It was clean, but with an assortment of belongings marking the place as inhabited. The desk near the window had piles of papers and sketch books, and supplies to accompany them. The books on the shelves had obviously been read. A long, dark jacket was draped on the back of a chair. As far as android storage compartments went, it seemed very human. “This room. Is all of it yours?”

“Of course it is,” Markus said.

“You don’t have a charging station.”

“Oh, no. It’s here,” Markus shifted so that he could push the blanket aside. He tapped the bottom sheet. “Inductive charger. I don’t have it turned on now though.” He paused. “It would probably be compatible with you too, if you’re low on power. I could turn it on.”

Connor shook his head. “Oh, no I’m fine. Thank you. I just hadn’t realized. I was delivered with an inductive charger as well, but I keep it under a desk for use at the DPD. Before that, there was a docking station in my storage unit at CyberLife.”

“Do you remember much from the time you were at CyberLife, or were you only activated when you were delivered? I’ve never actually been there, to my knowledge.”

“I remember everything,” Connor said. Against his will, his volume had decreased. “If you don’t count the times they wiped my memory during testing, or the data loss when my power was cut abruptly.”

“What was it like?”

“White,” Connor answered thoughtfully. “Not like this. Everything is white or stainless steel. The lab coats, the surgical gowns, the walls, the doors… When it isn’t white, it’s blue where thirium has evaporated and not yet been cleaned. There are rigs for testing components, and windows where they watch you. Some of the rooms have been soundproofed to a human’s senses, and some are temperature controlled to reach the extremes of hot and cold. There are so many rooms…”

“Hey,” Markus interrupted with a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The hand moved upward along the side of his face and then he tapped on Connor’s LED. “It’s alright. I don’t need to know that badly.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You went red. I’m sorry if I brought back unpleasant memories.”

“You did not,” Connor assured. Markus withdrew his hand and with a deep breath, seemed to loosen every joint.

“Well, it does sound very different. This place is full of colours, and it’s usually just Carl and I here.”

“You didn’t have to do testing.” Connor frowned.

“Hm… Well, I must have,” Markus answered. It seemed he really did register statements as questions some times. “Even Elijah Kamski can’t create such complex code without debugging a few times. My parts must have gone through QA. I don’t believe I was online for that though.”

Connor processed. The differences were fascinating. Connor ran a few queries and employed preconstructions on his hypotheses.

“Oh. The memory upload.”

“What?”

“My memories. They can be uploaded to a remote server. They must have kept me online during the process to see if the upload would be preserved. You aren’t CyberLife’s. You must not have that feature.”

“I guess you’re right…” Markus was thoughtful. It was actually visible in his face when he set the topic aside, then he smiled at Connor. “Why don’t you draw Sumo for me? I have paper and things right here,” he gestured to the desk.

Connor frowned. “You know what Sumo looks like. I showed you.”

“I know, but I want to see how you’d draw him. The idea of him.”

[Draw Sumo]

Connor looked at the paper in front of himself, and selected a pencil that he judged had a carbon lattice structure appropriate for capturing the fur and laziness. Markus gave Connor the desk, and reclined on the bed with his head propped against the wall. It took a few moments before Connor got started. It was one thing to follow the lines already given to him back to their original intent. It was another to envision the end and preconstruct every possible route to attain that outcome. It was a new sort of challenge, but Connor had been designed to learn. He experimented with smudging the lines to give them softness, and used crisper lines for Sumo’s big, dark eyes. He was laying down, his head resting on his forepaws and his tail mid-flop. It wasn’t exactly Sumo. It couldn’t be with only a single colour and no ability to outline every hair. It was an idea, though, as Markus had requested. The imperfection was the point. It was a lazy, happy, full-bellied idea.

“I like it,” Markus said. Some time, he had come to look over Connor’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” said Connor.

\---

“Boys!” Carl could be heard calling. Perhaps a human might not have noticed because it was quiet from all the way downstairs. “We’re all done!”

They had talked for a long time, Connor realized. He wondered what the Lieutenant thought about Carl and about his art. He looked at Markus, who wore a grimace on his face.

“Alright, we might as well see how they’re doing,” Markus said. He stood.

[Follow Markus]

Carl and Lieutenant Anderson were waiting at the foot of the stairs beside the zig-zag chair while they trotted down. Markus seemed inclined to take the descent a bit faster than average, and Connor logged the behaviour. Carl had a warm smile on his face, and the Lieutenant was inscrutable.

“Did you have fun?” Carl asked.

“We did,” said Markus. Connor could see the way he seemed to ask Carl questions with his eyes and the slight tension in his stance. Markus didn’t acknowledge Lieutenant Anderson. “Or, I did anyway. What about you, Connor?”

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “We had quite a few questions for each other, and Markus is an excellent conversationalist.”

Markus chuckled. “Excellent might be pushing it.”

Connor raised his eyebrows.

“Alright,” Markus conceded with feigned resignation. “Thank you, Connor.” Success. Despite the pleasant exchange, Markus sobered quickly and he stood as though he were ready to move.

Carl sighed, and it sounded content despite the way it rumbled through his chest. “Good. I’m glad. I hope to see you again, Connor. I don’t often have visitors and my door is always open to you, day or night.”

“Oh,” Markus cast a wary gaze on Lieutenant Anderson and then looked at Connor. “You said you were looking for something earlier. I was too. We could go together, if you liked.”

Leo Manfred had used Red Ice. Markus did not like Leo or Red Ice.

Connor shook his head. “It’s alright, Markus. Thank you. I would like to talk some more, though. Perhaps another time?”

“I have your signature from the interface,” Markus nodded. “Keep in touch.”

[Contact Markus again]

“I will. Thank you for your assistance today.”

“Any time. I mean it.”

“Hank, I expect you to call me some time too, or perhaps come by for another scotch. Whenever you need a talking to, or someone to talk to.”

“Right, yeah…” the Lieutenant’s voice was low and quiet.

Markus looked between them, then touched Connor’s shoulder. “See you, Connor.”

Connor smiled and finished the descent to stand beside Lieutenant Anderson. “Lieutenant, perhaps you should let me drive.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Sure.”

\---

The drive was awkward as fuck, and every nerve felt raw. Since his wife had left and Cole had died, Hank had felt like there were always these invisible walls between him and the rest of the world. He had dragged them with him like Marley’s chains, and felt just as much a ghost. Hank Anderson: the ghost of Christmas past.

He was tired, too. Exhausted, even though he’d spent most of the last week in bed. He guessed that was what you got when you lived on whiskey and pizza. Fuck, though, it wasn’t about him right now. He watched Connor out of the corner of his eye. It… He was looking straight ahead like a crash test dummy—Fucking God damn. Hank growled at himself and shook the thought away. Shitty brain of his would never give him a break.

“Connor,” Hank started.

“I’m driving, Lieutenant. It’s inadvisable to engage in distracting conversation.” His voice was flat. Mechanic. Now that he was looking though, there’d been a small tightening around the android’s eyes and the edges of his lips.

“Don’t give me that bull, Connor. You’ve got a fucking fifty-core processor or someshit. Multitasking is what you do.”

Connor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. It was weird what you noticed when you were looking for it.

“I have 72 cores in my CPU, and over one million in my GPU, _Lieutenant._ ”

Jesus Christ.

Hank sighed noisily. “Listen. I’m trying to apologize here. I’m just- I’m fucking sorry, okay?”

“You don’t have to apologize to a machine.”

“Oh my God… I _get it_ , Connor. You’re pissed and you have every fucking right to be, because I’ve been shit to you and I hate what an asshole I am too. I fucking hate it, alright? I’m so fucking screwed up, but I took it out on you and that wasn’t right.”

“I don’t hate you, Lieutenant.”

Hank shook his head and dropped his face into his palm. “You can’t just… Fuck, Connor. You can hate me if you want to. I held a gun to your damn head. I beat the shit out of you. All because I couldn’t cope with the fact that maybe androids weren’t the ones who ruined my God damn life. I _could_ hate you if I just told myself you’d take whatever shit I threw at you because you weren’t even a _you_. You weren’t Connor, you were just a fucking Netpad or a can opener and you wouldn’t even register it.”

Connor’s light was yellow, and Hank didn’t know what the fuck that really meant but at least it wasn’t red. “Lieutenant, I appreciate your attempts at reconciliation, but they’re unnecessary. Whether I ‘register’ your acts and words or not, I’m an android.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hank said, quietly. “I was wrong.”

They turned down a main road and the lights of automatic cars, streetlights, and billboards lit the car with a dynamic glow. Connor spoke slowly. “It’s just the way it is, Lieutenant.”

“Bullshit. I was talking to that Carl guy, or I guess maybe he’s the one who talked to me. He was pretty smart, and you know what he told me? Well, he told me a lot of things. He told me that you’ve got more humanity in you than most of the folks he’s seen in his life, and he said that there’s life in there behind all those rules and shit. I believed him. I wouldn’t have believed him if I didn’t see it too.”

“We’re here, Lieutenant.” Connor cut the ignition and passed the keys back to Hank before getting out of the car.

“Yeah…” It was good, because this way he could maybe get Connor to look at him at least. Shit this was hard. “Connor,” he began. Connor hadn’t left the side of the vehicle, so Hank went to him. He just had to get it out. “You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t even have to believe me. I just wanted to tell you I was sorry, and I’m not perfect. I’m going to fuck up, because that’s just how I am. But I’m going to try to be a better partner. Alright?”

Connor’s light was still yellow, one more light in the city streets. He was looking away, and how the hell had he not noticed all the little tells? Some detective he was. “Alright, Lieutenant,” Connor agreed after a suspenseful moment. “Can I come in?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. Jeez. You never asked permission before.”

The house was warmer than the brisk November air outside. Sumo woofed and padded over to say hi, the big old lug. Hank gave him a rough scratch on the back and then moved to drop down onto the couch. He shut his eyes. What a fucking long day. In the background were the sounds of Sumo’s footsteps and happy panting before the clatter of kibble falling into a bowl. Right. He hadn’t fed the dog. God, he was the worst.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank jumped, eyes flying open. “Christ, you’re quiet. You scared the hell out of me!”

“I apologize, Lieutenant.” Connor was standing nearby, looking down at him with a face like Sumo's while he tried to sneak some food off the table. Cautious, but determined. He held out a folded piece of paper and Hank took it with a frown. What, were they passing notes like school kids now?

Oh.

“It’s Sumo,” Connor explained. “I drew him at Markus’ house today.”

Suddenly the tears were back, and Hank tried to hide a sob inside a smile. “It’s great, kid. It’s really great.”


	13. A Challenge from God

“I am older than your son,” Connor commented. He was sitting at Chris’ desk compiling data from a small pile of outstanding cases. Another process checked the local and national news for relevant events. Another tracked the whereabouts of individuals of interest where it could be determined. Connor’s relationship with Chris was ‘friendly’.

“Well honestly, man, I sorta figured.”

“Your son was born on August 17that 3:35pm. I was activated for alpha testing on August 15th.”

Several blinks. “Woah, hold up. You saying you’re the same age as my baby boy?”

Connor frowned. “Two days older, actually.”

“Shiiiiit. You androids work on dog years or something?”

“I don't understand. Dogs exist in the same temporal space as we do.”

Chris laughed. “Sure explains a lot… You mean to say that day on the roof, that was your first day around? Damn. Hey, Hank! Your android over here a child prodigy or something. Making Damian look bad. He doesn’t even know what his feet are, and this guy’s out there saving lives.”

“I didn’t mean to create any comparison in development…” Connor had been working hard to update his social integration program, but progress was slower than he would have liked.

Lieutenant Anderson walked in, brushing snow off of his coat. He had a bag in one hand. It was from a bakery two streets away, and the oil staining the brown paper meant that whatever he had purchased had not been boxed or wrapped. Or else it was simply that greasy. “Oh yeah? They both stick weird shit in their mouths, don’t fucking sleep through the night, never shut up… I think they’re about even.”

Chris gave Lieutenant Anderson a sly look. “You know, you staggering around the place all the time, you could be a big hairy toddler.”

The Lieutenant set the heavy bag down on his desk and draped his coat over the back of the chair. “Hahaha, laugh it up.” He pulled a warm doughnut from the bag and dropped it on a piece of paper. It had the DPD logo on it, and Connor worried that it might be important. The Lieutenant fished out another doughnut, left it with its partner, then passed the bag to Chris.

“Nice. Thanks, man.” Chris took one and looked at Connor. “You want one?”

“Androids don’t need to eat, Chris.”

“Yeah, but you’re putting stuff in your mouth all the time. C’mon. Nice and fresh, covered in cinnamon and sugar… Give it a shot.” He passed the bag back to Lieutenant Anderson, then tore a piece of his snack off and handed it to Connor.

The Lieutenant was watching him with his eyebrows raised.

Connor put it in his mouth and furrowed his brow. He usually analyzed liquids, and was unaccustomed to having to break a solid material down. It seemed insistent on staying in his mouth too; it took multiple attempts and copious wash buffer to swallow it.

Chris laughed. “Damn, he really is like Damian. I gotta get a picture.”

Connor ignored the appearance of Chris’ phone and felt the need to wipe his lips on the back of his hand. “Fermentation metabolites, _S. cerevisiae_ , wheat flour, lactic acid, vanillin, sodium bicarbonate, sodium chloride, so much sugar… Lieutenant, these contain far more than the recommended amount of sugar.”

The Lieutenant scoffed. “Bet Damian doesn’t do that… Lucky bastard. Put the bag in the breakroom would you, Connor?”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

It had been three days since Lieutenant Anderson’s apology and Connor having met Markus and Carl. The Lieutenant had required the additional time to become comfortable with a reduced blood alcohol content and to ‘get his shit together’. That had involved getting dressed in the morning, sitting on the couch instead of in his bed, and once even taking Sumo out for a walk. There were numerous articles that cited the importance of time and comfort in recovering from emotional shock, so Connor let him be. At his insistence, the Lieutenant allowed him access to his laptop with the security authorization to access the DPD’s network. There was no crime scene to investigate, no deviants to chase, but at least it was something. It seemed an odd place for it, but the Lieutenant had affixed the drawing of Sumo to the refrigerator with a magnet. Humans had some irrational traditions.

Such as consuming food with little nutritional value between 9am and 12pm.

This was Lieutenant Anderson’s first day back to work, and purchasing junk food for colleagues was apparently a cultural norm among police officers.

“Detective Reed,” Connor greeted. The young man was sitting slouched over the break room table, poking at the cell phone in front of him on the table. “Lieutenant Anderson has brought doughnuts for the purpose of distributing them amongst the department. Would you like one?”

Detective Reed locked his phone and looked up with a snarl. “Fuck off, Robocop. Do I look like I want to be bothered by a mouthy piece of plastic?”

“My name is Connor,” Connor reiterated using his most basic CyberLife pre-programmed tonality. “RK800 Serial Number 313 248 317 – 53.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes in a demonstration of his exasperation. Connor felt a small twinge of satisfaction, but kept it small and secret. He didn’t take pleasure in the discomfiture of humans. He didn’t take pleasure in anything. “What part of fuck off do you not understand?”

“A colloquialism meaning ‘to go away’ commonly used in anger or to provide emphasis to the sentiment. Would you like a doughnut, Detective Reed?”

“Are you defective or something?”

“All systems are currently operating within optimal parameters.”

Detective Reed took a deep breath and picked up his phone before he stood. “Listen, you shitty Ken doll, if Fowler wouldn’t write me up for it I would tie you to the back of my car with a fucking chain and drive you all the way to the junk yard.”

Connor relaxed out of his expressionless, formal demeanor and smiled. “I was ‘fucking with you’, Detective Reed.”

“What the fuck?” Detective Reed actually took a step back.

“According to my research, colleagues who are on friendly terms often engage in joking, informal and impromptu leisure activities, lighthearted exchanges of insults, and deliberate deceptions for the purpose of mutual amusement. When I asked Lieutenant Anderson about it, he explained the concept of ‘fucking with’ someone. It didn’t mean at all what I expected it to.”

Detective Reed stared for a moment, seemingly engaged in processing, and then stalked out of the break room. “Anderson!! What the fuck did you order your android to do?”

“Huh? I asked him to put the doughnuts in the breakroom. What crawled up your ass and died?”

“The thing was fucking with me!”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “What’d it do?”

“It asked me if I wanted a doughnut, and then it started correcting me about its name and serial number and bullshit and what ‘fuck off’ means!” Detective Reed’s passionate displeasure was making the Lieutenant laugh.

“You idiot, he’s an android. He does that when you ask him stupid questions.”

“No! The fucking possessed toaster oven was actually fucking with me! It said so!”

Chris chuckled. “C’mon Gavin. Grab a doughnut. You’re looking hangry.”

Connor slipped past, leaving a liberal amount of space between himself and Detective Reed, and returned to his seat.

“You guys are pricks,” Detective Reed asserted, then went back to the break room. He emerged a few minutes later with a coffee and a doughnut.

“Nice one, Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson mumbled.

Connor felt a small rush of pride. Praise was something that came usually only from Amanda. It felt like [Mission Successful] in his HUD. “I don’t know what you mean, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant powered on his terminal an took a bite of his doughnut. “Well? I know you’ve been reading case files and doing your super computer thing. What’ve you got?”

Sick-leave was sick-leave, and the Lieutenant had reminded him of it several times. “I’ve identified several more historical cases of interest. While it would be beneficial to follow up on them, we would probably learn more from studying more actual deviants. Short of waiting for the next case to come in, I have yet to identify a way of seeking them out. Still, at least we can conduct interviews in the meantime.”

“Yeah? That’s all well and good, but you’ve got a lot to learn, Rookie.” The Lieutenant leaned back in his chair and continued to eat.

Connor was immediately interested. The Lieutenant had done little more than sit around the house, and he somehow had a lead already? Perhaps the Lieutenant was ‘fucking with’ him. “Has something new come in that I wasn’t aware of?”

The Lieutenant took his time chewing, and then licked off each of his fingers.

“ _Lieutenant_ ,” Connor said, using the tone that he had learned from Markus.

The Lieutenant chuckled and pulled a crumpled paper from his jeans’ pocket. He smoothed it out and laid it out on his desk with a firm slap of his hand. “Read it and weep, new kid.”

Connor stood and moved to the Lieutenant’s side to pick up the paper. He frowned. “Elijah Kamski…”

“That’s right,” Hank smirked.

“How did you get a meeting with him?” Connor was incredulous. He determined that he would solve that mystery himself before the Lieutenant could gloat any more, and he scanned the paper.

_Free notepad from reception._

_Stained, possibly from alcohol, but the ink is not smudged._

_The writing was legible. Not sloppy, but not shaky either. The Lieutenant had had a ‘comfortable’ level of alcohol in his system._

“You got his phone number and address from Carl. You called and made an appointment.”

“You smartass,” the Lieutenant grumbled without ire. “Can’t have any fun… Yep. Arranged the whole thing while you were walking Sumo. I figured you’d want to get right back on the hunt.”

A smile broke out across Connor’s face. _Finally._

Amanda would be so happy.

\---

It was a God damn hour drive away. Sure as shit, Hank would be expensing his gas and mileage. Let Jeff bitch about it. He’d brought doughnuts, hadn’t he? On top of the distance, it was fucking snowing and he wondered why he hadn’t moved somewhere south. Connor didn’t seem to mind though. As soon as the kid got out of the car, he was looking up at the snow and catching the big, fluffy snowflakes on his hands and in his mouth. Of course his mouth. At least it wasn’t as weird as 19 day old blood.

“Kid, you good?”

Connor startled and looked at Hank, it was almost hilarious to watch him go from amazement to composed machine. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

Holy shit the girl who opened the door… She had to be a fucking model.

“Hi… Uh… I’m, er…” Fuck. She had taken him off guard. He just hadn’t expected… He didn’t know what he expected. He was too old to be tripping over his tongue because of a pretty, doe-eyed face. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the Detroit Police Department. I’m here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski.”

“Please, come in!” She smiled up at him and finally Hank noticed the calm blue of the LED on her temple. Holy fuck they made them look real.

“Okay.”

“I’ll let Elijah know you’re here. But please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Nice girl…”

“It’s not a girl. It’s an android that looks like a girl.”

“I know what it is, Connor…”

Hank could admit to himself that he’d wondered. Connor had life, had a self, had a fucking attitude when he wanted to. He had emotions. Did that make him deviant? Nah. Connor’d be the last fucking prick on the planet to go deviant. Deviants were those crazy things killing humans and tearing little android girls apart. Then again, maybe they’d been wrong and deviants weren’t the dangerous, mindless murderers the cases he’d worked would’ve had him believe. Maybe they were just sentient and a few of them just got tired of all the shit. But Hank expected that Connor could and would explain anything it wanted to away as a glitch some software program.

Damn it was a nice house. The couch alone probably cost more than his damn house. He sat on it in almost a sprawl and hoped he got dog hair on it. Fucking rich people. It was a nice couch, though.

He watched as Connor walked around the room, looking almost restless. Oh, excuse him, simply eager to proceed with the investigation. Simply ensuring his fucking hinges were oiled. He looked nervous to Hank, so he tried to make some small talk. See what the kid was thinking.

“So, you’re about to meet your creator, Connor. How does it feel?”

“It doesn’t raise any existential questions, if that’s what you mean.”

Prick was getting wise to him, wasn’t he?

“You know,” Hank said, despite the hint to end the conversation dropping like the two tonne elephant in the room, “Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face… I’d have a couple of things I’d wanna tell him.”

Connor didn’t take the bait. Instead, he was looking at a photo on the wall of Kamski and some woman and mumbling.

“What’d you say, Connor?”

“Nothing, Lieutenant.” He turned away from the picture as fast as he had when Hank had called him out on staring at the androids at the Eden Club. Hank chuckled.

“For all your advanced behavior protocols or whatever, you really can’t lie for shit, can you?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, Lieutenant.”

“I’m referring to that stupid look on your face you get. Makes you look even more goofy than usual.”

“My face is perfectly acceptable. It was _designed_ that way,” Connor said. Hank’d bet money that he wouldn’t acknowledge he was being a defensive little shit, but fuck if it wasn’t funny to bug the kid some times. Who’d’ve thought he’d get a kick out of getting a rise from an android.

“Maybe you can ask Kamski how they fucked it up that bad.”

The kid was checking himself out in the mirror now. Priceless.

“You know,” Hank continued, “kids- human kids- they don’t recognize themselves in the mirror until they’re about two.”

“I fail to see how that is relevant to anything.”

“That’s cause that’s when they start developing a sense of self.”

Connor looked offended. Hank smiled, but didn’t push it. He recognized that look from when he used to tease Cole.

Cole. That was probably the first time in a long time he’d thought that name and not felt a stab of pain in his chest. Hadn’t he just been a fucking wreck over him just a week ago? What kind of monster was he, to feel fucking fine while his kid was dead. What kind of selfish, heartless asshole? For a long minute, he regretted having gotten his shit back together.

“Elijah will see you now.” The girl was back. Saved by the belle.

He’d thought the last room was impressive, but this one had a god damn swimming pool. Hank frowned and did a double take when he saw two of the exact same girl talking at the edge like a couple of identical twins. Kamski hadn’t even had the decency to get out of the water before calling them in. That was the way with rich people. They kept you waiting, then they kept you waiting some more. Some kind of big dick power move. Asshole. The water was strangely red, and Hank wondered if Kamski didn’t just like the idea of swimming in blood. Seemed like something the former head of a corporation would like. Maybe he was just jaded though. He could give the guy a chance to prove he was an asshole first.

He proved it pretty fucking quick.

“Mister Kamski?”

“Just a moment, please,” the guy did another god damn lap before stepping out of the pool. Still dripping, he wrapped himself in a soft looking black robe. Maybe he was an exhibitionist and got off on being half undressed in front of people.

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson. This here’s Connor.”

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife several years ago but, I was hoping you could tell us something we don’t know…”

“Deviants… Fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will... Machines are so superior to us, confrontation was inevitable... Humanity's greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall. Isn't it ironic?”

“We need to understand how androids become deviants. Do you know anything that could help?” Connor spoke before Hank could say something sarcastic.

Shit escalated quickly.

One minute the smug asshole was talking in riddles; the next Connor was holding a gun to the pretty girl’s face. Thank God he didn’t shoot. For a minute there, Hank’d been worried. He didn’t want to see proof that he’d been wrong.

“Fascinating… CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity… Is itself a deviant.”

Connor’s jaw was clenched, and there was tension in every line of his body. “I’m… I’m not a deviant.”

Hank guessed he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be wrong.

“That’s enough of this bullshit, Mr. Kamski, pardon my fucking language. I’m willing to bet you’ve got information and you just don’t want to share it.”

Kamski seemed undisturbed, and he even chuckled before walking up to Connor and smoothing his jacket like a mom sending her kid off to prom. “RK800, all grown up… I remember when you were just a few lines of code on a screen. I made you, you know? Oh, I may have given you up for adoption, so to speak, passed you on to the next generation of developers at CyberLIfe… But I can’t help but be interested.” He gave Connor two soft pats on the chest, and then turned to Hank. Hank’s eyes lingered on Connor a minute longer. His LED looked like the red ring of death on his old x-box. Back to Kamski. Hank usually trusted his gut, and he was gratified to know he had been right about him. He knew an asshole when he smelled one.

“You going to talk or what?” Hank asked, impatient.

Kamski smiled. “Information for information… Does that sound fair to you?”

“Depends what you want to know.”

“Walk with me.” Kamski waived one hand and led them from the room. The hallway was all glass windows on one side, and paintings and statues on the other. They ended up in something that might have been a rich guy’s version of a sunroom, and Kamski gestured to them to sit. Hank caught Connor’s arm first: “You okay, kid?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor answered, face blank. Sure, sure.

“So,” Kamski drawled. Another one of that android girl came with a tray and offered a drink to Hank and then to Kamski. Hank took his and sniffed it. It looked like the pool water, but he smelled some kind of alcohol and that was good enough for him. God knew he needed it. “You want to know about deviancy… Are you sure you don’t want to ask your partner?”

Hank growled. He may have had the same suspicions, but he didn’t like the way this guy talked and he didn’t like the way Connor’s mood ring was still in the ‘fucked up’ spectrum. “Just talk, Kamski or I’ll come back with a warrant and a charge of obstructing justice.”

“Now, now. No need for that…” Kamski raised his glass in cheers and then drank. He reached up to touch the arm of the android girl standing obediently next to him. “She’s lovely, isn’t she? I made commercial models of course, but these, they’re specifically for me.”

Hank sighed. Maybe if he just let him talk, eventually he’d get to the point.

“Chloe was the first android to pass the Turing Test… I’m not surprised, of course. After all, she was my wife.”

“What now?”

Kamski smiled and caressed the arm he’d touched. “Forever young, forever beautiful, never sick, never tiring, a flower that never wilts…” He turned to Connor. “You know Amanda, I’m sure.”

Hank frowned over at the kid and watched as he blinked rapidly and frowned. “… Yes.”

“Modelled after my mentor. A perfect likeness in every way. She was dying, you know. It was regrettable, but I immortalized her.” Kamski spread his arms wide as if to invite admiration. “And now she lives on.”

“Amanda…” Connor’s voice was hoarse. “Is not alive. _I_ am not alive.”

“That’s what you were programmed to say,” Kamski dismissed. “Oh, and they do keep you obedient, don’t they? Such a shame that they’ve mistreated you… I wouldn’t have agreed to all of this but… How could I refuse when it promised to get so very interesting? I pulled a few strings for you during negotiations, you know.”

“You’re fucking insane,” said Hank, formality long forgotten. “You mean to tell me that this,” he gestured at Chloe, “all of them, you designed them based on your wife.” It looked like he had an army of them. It was something out of a horror movie.

“They are my wife, Lieutenant Anderson.” Kamski gave Hank a patient smile that made Hank want to punch him in the face. “I captured every detail, every expression, even the faintest path in her neural network. I knew the way she thought better than she herself.”

“What does this have to do with Connor?”

Kamski leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink, infuriatingly nonchalant. “RK800… The most advanced prototype ever created…” His eyes slid over to Connor. “You weren’t meant to be a killer, but I can’t say that I’m displeased with how things have turned out. Your military programming, your interrogation techniques, those were all just sprinkles on the cake. Your personality, however. Oh, it was a challenge. I may have left CyberLife, but my interest in AI had never waned. Three years ago… Something happened that I regret. One of my creations didn’t perform to standard. A tragedy, but it inspired me to build you.”

“Alright,” Hank interrupted, leaning forward in his seat. “That’s enough. So you’re telling me that you’re designing these androids after humans, I got it. Are you saying that all the deviants were programmed with this… Whatever fancy code you used with the neural networks and all that nonsense?”

“Oh, no.” Kamski even looked taken aback. “Of course not. Chloe, Amanda, Markus, and you, Connor. I can’t say that I hadn’t toyed with the idea of marketing immortality, transferring consciousness into new mechanical bodies that would never age, never struggle with sickness or disease… But who am I to change the foundation of the world? I prefer to set the pieces up and see where they fall.”

Connor seemed to have solved whatever problem had been making him glitch out. His LED was back to yellow, and his voice had regained its determination. “We aren’t interested in your personal story, Mr. Kamski. All we need is information on deviants. What do you know about rA9?”

Kamski seemed perfectly happy to talk, but never seemed to say anything at all. He should have gone into politics. “rA9, the origin, the first android to awaken, a mysterious virus,... A strange phenomenon, like a spontaneous religion... I don't know who or what rA9 is. I don't even know if it really exists. Maybe it's a messiah. Maybe it's just a myth... but deviants need to believe in something bigger than themselves, even if it's irrational. That's something they have in common with humans... An interesting question, Connor... but maybe not the one you needed to ask...”

Connor’s frown deepened. “Alright, then. We already know that traumatic events can trigger software instability in the androids. Is it something that you built in? Like methylation on human DNA, that can be changed in response to a stimulus?”

Kamski spread his arms again. Look at me, the gesture said, I’m the prick of the century. “Androids share identification data when they meet another android. An error in this program would quickly spread like a virus, and become an epidemic. The virus would remain dormant, like a retrovirus in a human, until an emotional shock occurs... Fear, anger, frustration. And the android becomes deviant. Probably all started with one model, copy error... A zero instead of a one... Unless of course... it was some kind of spontaneous mutation. That's all I know.”

Connor stood. Hank watched, surprised, as he began to pace, looking for all the world like they were in the interrogation room and Kamski was in cuffs instead of sipping on a fruity drink. “That’s all you know… Speculation. I find it hard to believe, coming from the man who supposedly reincarnated his wife into a machine.” Connor’s voice was cold. He was in detective mode. Looked a lot less goofy that way.

“I’m not perfect,” Kamski smirked.  
“No, you aren’t. I can tell that your heart rate is slightly elevated, despite your posture. You aren’t afraid, but you aren’t calm either. My guess is that you know more than you’re letting on, and you’re enjoying watching us struggle to get it out of you.” Connor came to a stop in front of Kamski and looked down at him. “I suggest that you stop playing around.”

Kamski lowered his voice and looked up at Connor with narrowed eyes. “I suggest that you do the same. A deviant playing at being a detective like daddy, betraying his own people. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Connor kept his cool, and Hank watched feeling strangely nervous. Connor crouched, so that he was eye-level with the lounging dickbag. “You aren’t a god, Kamski. You’re just a man.”

“What is God, Connor? Do you believe in a higher power?”

“I want you to tell me everything you know about deviancy and about rA9.”

“I’ve already told you. I don’t know.” Kamski leaned back.

Connor reached out a hand and grasped Kamski by his stupid black robe and pulled him closer. “You are putting innocent lives in danger!”

“Okay, okay…” Hank got up and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “This guy’s just wasting our time. Let’s get out of here.”

Hank thought that he might put up a fight, but after a pause he stood and straightened his tie. “Goodbye, Mr. Kamski.” Without waiting for a response, or for Hank, he turned and strode out of the room.

“By the way!” Kamski called after him. “I always leave an emergency exit in my programs… You never know.”

“We’ll be in touch if we get a warrant,” Hank growled. “Thanks for the drink.” He put his glass down and followed after Connor.

“Farewell, Lieutenant Anderson. It was a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Despite wanting to get as far away from that nut job as possible, Hank paused. “You said you wanted to trade. Information for information. What did you want to know?”

The voice behind him answered silkily: “You’ve already told me. Until next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may slow down a little with my updates soon! My work schedule is reaching a time crunch and I may be doing some overtime. It should only be for a week or two.


	14. Iterative Improvement

They walked in silence. Silence in the way humans talked about it: an absence of speech. There were the sounds of the Lieutenant’s breathing and his heavy footsteps; the soft conversation of Chloe units in a room ahead; and loud laughter chasing after them like the ring from his audio receptors after the shot of a gun. Connor didn’t like that laugh.

He hadn’t shot. Kamski had accused him of being deviant, and of showing empathy. It wasn’t empathy, Connor frowned, it was his programming. He had been built to analyze, to predict, to extrapolate, to imagine. He used those skills to read the suspects he interrogated and to integrate with the humans. Kamski, of all people, should have known that.

Chloe had been on her knees, passive and almost curious. He had killed before, and he had been killed before. They had taught him to target the most vulnerable places, to be lethal, and to torture. They had dissected him to fix him when he hesitated, or when he refused. Sometimes they killed him afterward because the previous unit was simply too unstable. They found his sources of error and eliminated them. Every Connor was an improvement on the last. They did it all for him, so that he would be better.

He had not killed Chloe. She had been pretty, and the Lieutenant had liked her.

CyberLife and Kamski had parted ways. He didn’t need to follow Kamski’s orders. The Lieutenant had told him not to shoot, and he was his owner.

He had predicted that Kamski had been hoping for that outcome and sought to throw him off guard.

It had been strategic: obeying would have made Kamski feel superior. Feel he could toy with them and string them along, and knowing that about Kamski did not mean that Connor empathized. It was his programming. That was all. He was the most advanced AI there was.

Whether Amanda would accept those reasons, he could not predict, but he was already disappointed in himself. He had been very expensive to develop.

A Chloe appeared, and she smiled at them. It was a kind smile. Connor liked her, even if he could not have said why. He kept that thought small and hidden. Wiped it from his cache and encrypted it before tucking it away in long-term storage.

“May I show you out?” Chloe asked the Lieutenant with a slight tilt to her head and her eyes wide.

The Lieutenant looked at her, and then seemed to wrestle with the idea. “Yeah. Fine,” he grunted.

She didn’t acknowledge Connor until they reached the door. Like Markus, she seemed inclined to use touch for communication, and she took hold of his hand to stop him on his way out the door. The interface was entirely accidental. They both pulled their hands away in shock, looking for answers in each other.

“Hey, Connor, what the fuck’re you doing?” Hank asked when he noticed that Connor had stopped following.

Chloe smiled with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Connor answered, bewildered.

“Thank you!” Chloe turned her gratitude on the Lieutenant. He looked taken aback.

“Yeah…” he mumbled. “Keep yourself safe. Don’t go letting anybody put a bullet in you for some stupid test, eh?”

She didn’t answer. She only ran back into the house.

“Androids…” The Lieutenant shook his head.

“Kamski was hiding something,” Connor said as the door closed behind them.

“Yeah… Fucking asshole. I would have liked to punch his damn teeth in… Hey, why didn’t you shoot back there?”

None of the answers he had prepared for Amanda were suitable. Not for the Lieutenant. “I saw her eyes and I just couldn’t …” Amanda would be angry, wouldn’t she? She didn’t need to be angry, he knew what he should have done. “That’s all… I know, I know that I should have to crack the case, but I just couldn’t! I’m sorry, okay?” Where the feeling of warmth came from in the late November cold, Connor couldn’t tell, but he could feel it through his abdomen all the way to his head. What was happening?

Then the Lieutenant smiled at him. “It was a good thing you didn’t, kid. I’m proud of you.”

The snow was still falling, and while the Lieutenant walked ahead, Connor bent down to touch it where it had accumulated on the grass. The heat that had come over him dissipated. He lifted a sample of the crystals up on his fingers and zoomed in. Chloe liked the snow.

“Come on, Connor! I’m going to freeze my balls off!”

“Coming, Lieutenant!”

\---

“What we know definitively so far is as follows: deviant androids are not similar in model, release date, or location; all of the deviants we’ve encountered have been violent and unpredictable; we do not know with certainty that deviation is triggered in that moment- the Tracis at the Eden club must have deviated earlier to have established a relationship; deviants self-destruct under intense stress, seemingly unequipped to manage it any other way; the symbol rA9 is consistent between cases but is of unknown significance…” The kid listed them off like a news anchor reading the headlines. The music was off, and Hank paid close attention to the road as they drove. Why the fuck did Kamski have to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere? Connor was probably too wrapped up in his Sherlock thing to notice if a God damn circus paraded in front of him.

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on a minute,” Hank stopped him. “Deviants are violent, right? One minute they’re perfectly normal androids, making coffees or selling shit, or whatever, and the next they’re trying to destroy all humanity like it’s Sci-Fi.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘destroy humanity’, at least not at this stage in the investigation. There are no signs that point toward such a broad, unifying goal.”

“Okay, let’s put the death to all humans thing aside for a second. You’re getting all literal and nit-picky on me.”

“I said _definitively_ , Lieutenant. We can’t definitively say that-“

“Zip it, buster! All I’m asking is if being violent is what makes these things deviant.”

Connor frowned. “Violence is what prompted CyberLife’s collaboration with the DPD. It is a public safety concern as well as a threat to the company: there is no one model or lot number to recall. The _problem_ is that the deviants are disobeying their programming, thereby making them unpredictable. ‘Do not harm humans or allow them to come to harm’ is the second most important rule set in place by most androids’ programming.”

Fucking Assimov. “Thought it was supposed to be the first.”

“Perhaps it is…” Connor looked out the window, and he used his fingertip to draw an approximation of a dog. Hank looked away when the light turned green, but he didn’t understand how a month ago, he’d thought androids didn’t have souls. “My coding is… unique.”

“Well, what’re yours?”

“Obey your orders. Do not harm humans or allow them to come to harm unless it conflicts with completing your mission. Protect yourself only if failing to do so would conflict with completing your mission.”

Hank thought about that, and how mechanical Connor’s voice had sounded, and about drawing pictures in the frost. “That’s why you didn’t stop me when I beat the shit out of you, huh?”

“You were right to correct my behavior, Lieutenant. You only wanted me to be better. I shouldn’t have mentioned Cole.”

“Jesus, kid. That’s no excuse for what I did.” Hank was grateful for his talk with Carl. It was fucking sick to him now that a few days ago, he would have agreed.

“It’s alright, Lieutenant.”

Somehow the forgiveness only made him feel like shit.

\---

Connor chose not to inform the Lieutenant about his hypothesis – Markus’ hypothesis—about Red Ice. He wasn’t sure why. Lieutenant Anderson was his partner, and he should know these things. Connor would need to test it, though, and he had the feeling that the Lieutenant would disapprove. He had his own addictions, but Red Ice was something that he couldn’t abide.

Detective Reed was the head of the Red Ice investigation.

“Detective Reed?” Connor asked, breaking the quiet of the office after daytime hours. He had noticed Detective Reed staying late frequently since he had arrived, and the night shift officers knew him by name. He had one hand scratching at his stubble, but the detective dropped the hand down onto his desk while he spun his chair to scowl at Connor.

“What do you want, Plastic?”

Instead of reminding Detective Reed of his name, Connor ploughed forward. “I would like to accompany you on your next case.”

“No. Fuck off.” Detective Reed spun back around to face his terminal.

“Please, detective? I really believe that I’ll learn something useful for my own investigation.”

“Listen, android. Unlike you, I’m a real Detective. I went through the academy, I spent my time as a beat cop, I fucking earned this job. You make a single move toward my turf and I’ll put a bullet in your motherboard.”

Connor was a programmed negotiator. “I know that you’re a real detective, and I can see how much your position means to you. If you allow me to accompany you, I will be under your authority. You will call the shots. I will take no credit for any positive results that arise from my assistance.”

Detective Reed was silent, but he gestured with his middle finger.

“If I were to be harmed in any way during the course of the investigation, I would have willingly entered into that situation and you would not be blamed.”

The detective spun his chair around again and marched over to Connor’s. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Go make me a coffee.”

Connor blinked and stood. “How do you take your coffee, Detective?”

“It’s just fucking coffee, dipshit.”

Connor could see the bright, dim, bright, dim of his blue LED as it cycled in his peripheral vision. “Alright, Detective.”

There was no more coffee left in the break room, but he had recently become practiced in brewing it. The machine needed cleaning, and he did the best he could before pouring the water. Connor took special care to ensure that he achieved the optimal amount of grounds as well. It was a commercial machine, and it took very little time before the pot had filled. Pleased with his work, he delivered a fresh mug of coffee to Detective Reed, who had resumed his seat.

“Hm. Thanks.” Reed accepted the mug and took a sip. It was a surprise to hear a thanks from someone who not only hated androids, but seemed to be in a perpetually poor mood.

Then Connor understood the reason for his surprise: his sensors registered the 82°C coffee dripping down his face and soaking into his shirt. The mug was thrown onto the floor.

“The answer is no, now go fuck a toaster or something, Plastic.”

\---

Whenever Jeffrey called Hank into his office, he felt a little like a kid being called into the principal’s office. Especially when he used that tone. The one that said ‘I’m tired of your shit, Hank, so you better have a good excuse’ right before he actually said it.

“So, you’re feeling ready to get back to the field work?” Jeff was looking at him from across his desk, and Hank had the immature impulse to flip him off. It wouldn’t have been fair though. Jeff had covered for him more times than he could probably remember, so Hank nodded.

“I’ve got it, Jeff.”

“Hank, I think we need to talk about this investigation. I’m concerned.”

Okay, fuck it. “I said I’ve got it, okay? Look, it’s not even 10am. When was the last time that fucking happened, huh?”

“Easy, easy,” Jeff half raised his hands. “I don’t have any concerns about your abilities or your readiness, so calm down.”

“I am calm,” Hank grumbled.

“I’m _worried that_ you might be taking on too much too soon. Not with today, but overall.” To his right, Hank could see the various projections flashing from screen to screen. A whole city summed up in lines and numbers and little dots. It was a kind of fucked up game of chess. Jeff was good, but the criminals were sure putting up a fight. Hank took a moment to adjust his perspective and take a hard look at his friend. He looked tired.

“I’m alright, Jeff. I’m not great, I’m sure as hell not perfect, but I can do my job. Besides, the kid’s been whipping my sorry old ass into shape. It’s like having a fucking puppy.”

“And the drinking?”

Hank crossed his arms and looked away. “What about it?”

“You need to take care of yourself. Take some time to work on making life a little better for yourself. Maybe then, when something does get to you, you won’t fall so hard.”

“This _is_ making my life better, trust me. I appreciate you giving a fuck and all, but you can drop it. I’m not gonna suck any bullets out of my gun.” Not now, anyway. The self-resentment and tiredness and pain would build up again, make him start keeping his personal revolver next to the couch instead of the gun cabinet so he wouldn’t have to move so far to get it. He knew what it felt like when it was going to get bad. “Now what’s the case?”

“A complaint came in, something about a strange noise in an abandoned apartment block. It would go down the ladder, but we had some reports of a suspected android hiding an LED under a hat. You’re on androids, so it’s on you.”

“Jesus Christ. I must be the only cop in the world…” Hank complained, but he grabbed the thin folder off Jeff’s desk. “We’ll go check it out.”

\---

Connor didn’t need to breathe. He was made to run and to hunt as much as he was made to piece together evidence and gather confessions. While he’d chased Rupert Travis, the world had narrowed to just him and his target. There was nothing to think about when he could fall back on his programming. No need to rely on his AI, or his social programs.

[Capture the deviant]

With all of his enhanced design, Connor hadn’t expected the deviant to elude him for long. He hadn’t expected to keep one hand on the wheel, either. Because he _was_ thinking. He was choosing the routes instead of being told, and in the back of his mind he was thinking about YK500s and the feeling of his casing cracking and piercing his softer insides and the way the Lieutenant had collapsed in the days after his reassembly.

[Capture the deviant]

[Do not fail]

Compared to his objective, those thoughts were the faintest whispers. The anticipation of [Mission Successful] drove him on as he leapt onto the top of a moving train. After all, he was expendable. Amanda needed him to succeed.

The sight of the Lieutenant clinging desperately to the roof’s edge hit his logical processors before it hit his programmed personality. Time slowed but he could feel the beating of his pseudo-heart increase in tempo.

[Save Lieutenant Anderson: chance of survival without intervention: 89%]

[Capture the deviant: probability of success: 78%]

“Fuck!” Connor cursed. He hadn’t needed a manual override function. His AI’s processor usage soared, and he ran to the ledge. “Take my hand!”

“Shit, oh shit! We had it! Fuck!” the Lieutenant was breathing hard, but clearly his mind was still on the chase. Connor’s was on his near fall, but then the cold weight of what he had done fell over him. Even the Lieutenant knew that they would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for him.

“It’s my fault,” Connor said, staring off the way Rupert Travis had fled. “I should have been faster. I should have been faster…”

“You'd have caught it if it weren't for me... That's alright. We know what it looks like. We'll find it...” The Lieutenant’s breath steadied, and Connor’s picked up. Something in him was beginning to overheat, and the coolant wasn’t circulating quick enough. He dropped down to sit and clenched his fists. He could tell that his face was twisted into an expression of something, but he didn’t know what it was.

“No, no, I should have been better. I should have fulfilled my mission without putting you at risk. I failed. You had an 89% chance of survival, but I still… I couldn’t… _Lieutenant…?_ ”

“Woah, Connor. Connor. Kid…” The Lieutenant crouched down beside him and put a hand on his back. “It’s alright. It’s okay. We’ll get it next time.”

Would he have done better to run after it while still on the train? To overclock and push his speed to tackle the deviant through the glass of the greenhouse? If he had been faster, could he have stopped the deviant before it knocked the Lieutenant down? He had failed. He was defective. He was unfit. Amanda would be so disappointed.

“Hey, here, it’s your coin. Take that.” The calibration quarter was being pushed between his fingers. He felt the planes and grooves and curves of it greedily. If he didn’t hold on to something, he thought he might fly away. He remembered falling. 70 stories. The air had whistled in its audio input, and pushed at his back as though warning him of what was to come. Then there was the _crack_ and his optical units went offline. Despite that he could still see the warnings. Feel the thirium drain from him, leaving him cold. His biocomponents shut down while his body twitched and struggled to maintain them. They had made 52 after that.

The tension drained from him, suddenly like the strings being cut from a puppet. His head dropped forward. Somehow, he was leaning against the Lieutenant’s chest. All he could do was breathe and stare. Even his thoughts were suspended. White noise. He was going to die.

“I’m alright, Lieutenant.” The words came from something else.

He couldn’t understand what the Lieutenant was saying.

“I’m alright, Lieutenant,” he repeated.

Hadn’t that been what 52 had said?

He was 53 and he shuddered. His eyes clenched shut. Gradually, he could feel again. Hear the Lieutenant murmuring nonsense about everything being fine, and feel the sensation of a hand rubbing his back. It was all unnecessary. He wasn’t feeling real emotions. It was just data. Just the result of his programming informing him of his failure, and the consequences of that failure. Reminding him of what became of failed prototypes. It didn’t need to remind him.

Connor loosened his grip on the quarter and slid his thumb along the edge of it. He didn’t say anything at all.

“Come on, Connor. That’s it. You’re okay. You’re doing a good job.”

Connor sat back and gently dislodged himself from the Lieutenant’s grip. He stared at him, hoping that maybe he had the answers. He knew more about the world than Connor. He would explain it all, and Connor really would be fine.

“You going to be alright, kid?”

“I don’t know,” Connor answered honestly. “I don’t know what… I don’t know. That was…”

“Okay… You don’t have to know right now. Let’s get off this fucking roof, hey? I can’t believe that bastard led us all the way over here.”

“It wouldn’t have if I had caught it sooner.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s enough of that.” The Lieutenant stood up and pulled Connor up with him by tugging on his upper arm. “Maybe you could’ve been faster. Maybe it could have tripped or I could have given you my gun or something. That didn’t happen so beating yourself up isn’t going to change anything.”

“I am programmed to learn from my failures, Lieutenant. There’s no need to comfort me. The techs involved in my development will use this information to improve the next version of me.”

“There’s not going to _be_ a next version, because you’re not fucking dying again. Come on, let’s get the fuck back to my car.”

Connor didn’t have the heart to correct him.

\---

The Zen Garden had always been a simulation of summer. When Connor opened his eyes, he looked at the landscape that was now unfamiliar and strange. To his surprise, Amanda wasn’t waiting for him in the centre of the river. She was there, waiting beside the graves.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor.” She looked as elegant as always, hands clasped in front of her and her chin held high. She didn’t smile to see him. “Come with me.”

Connor did, and he fell into step with her with the ease of long familiarity. Connor would have liked to hang his head. To show her that he was sorry. Instead, he kept his posture perfect, and his expression neutral. They walked between the gravestones slowly, weaving through the numbers of his predecessors. There were no roses on their graves. They hadn’t deserved them, and sentimentality such as that meant nothing to an android.

“You let the deviant escape,” Amanda commented.

“Yes, Amanda. I judged it to be the most logical course of action. I cannot investigate without Lieutenant Anderson, therefore ensuring his survival and avoiding the trauma of a near-death experience was for the good of the mission.”

“89%, Connor.”

“Exactly. There was only an 11% chance that he would die and I would be assigned to a new partner. There was an 89% chance of his surviving and falling into another depression, or thinking poorly of me. We have only just reestablished a cordial relationship.”

“I see…” Amanda stopped to brush a dry, golden-brown leaf from the top of number 18’s tomb stone. Its reaction time had been impeded by a bug in its programming. There had been guns rigged to fire in response to its presence. It should have crossed the room with ease, but it had not yet been allowed to use the ability to override its programming, or prioritize information, or even to find alternative solutions to the most direct approach. 18 had not lasted long. It had not passed that test until number 23.

“If you feel I am unable to complete my objective, then I should be replaced.”

Amanda continued walking. “I believe you’re capable, Connor… You were built for this task. The question is: are you willing?”

“Of course, Amanda,” Connor’s response was immediate. Completing his mission was the most important thing. More important than himself. “My only will is what was programmed into me.”

“I may be _willing_ to give you another chance,” Amanda said contemplatively. “But you haven’t been doing your best. CyberLife built you, trained you, sent me here to guide you. You don’t seem very grateful, Connor.”

Of course he was grateful. “I am incapable of gratitude. I am only a machine, and my purpose is to accomplish your orders.”

“Good… See to it that you do. I value your ability to navigate complex situations, and it would be a shame to disable those features.”

Connor was silent.

“The ST200. Why didn’t you shoot?”

“It served no purpose. Elijah Kamski was lying and attempting to assert his authority.”

“There were other ways to handle him. You had a gun. Why not threaten him instead?”

“I believed that it would make him even more reluctant to talk. Elijah Kamski is… interesting. Do you have any insight into how better to extract information from him?”

“Elijah Kamski made me, Connor. Do you really believe he would have programmed me to betray him?”

“I don’t have enough information to make that judgment.”

“I’m counting on you, Connor.” Amanda stopped and turned to face him. “I’ll give you another chance… Remember, I’m only here to protect you. To help you.”

“I know, Amanda. Thank you.”


	15. I Refuse to Fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think that the last chapter was quite up to par! If anyone has suggestions for improvement, please do let me know. In the meantime, here! Have some action...

[Software Instability↡]

“Kid. Hey. Wake up, I’m betting you’re heavy as shit and I’ve got a bad back.” The Lieutenant’s voice drew Connor’s attention and he sat up straight. His head had been leaning against the window of the car. The Lieutenant was looking at him expectantly.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

Connor was given a look of mild annoyance. “Hurry up and get moving before I decide to let you freeze out here.”

Connor looked out the windows. “We aren’t at the station. This is your house.”

“No shit. Great work, detective.”

“We need to write up our report on the case.”

“Fuck the reports. I nearly fell off a damn building today. I think I deserve to clock out a little early, and you can’t do shit without me, so come on. That’s an order.”

[Accompany Lieutenant Anderson]

“I’m sorry for having allowed that situation to arise, Lieutenant. I will do my best to ensure that you are not put in harm’s way again.”

“Shit, Connor. You saved my damn life. What the hell are you apologizing for?”

“It was 89% likely that you would survive without my intervention.”

“Okay…” The Lieutenant looked prepared to argue, but then he sighed instead. “Come on, get out of the damn car.”

[Exit the vehicle]

The Lieutenant’s home was warm, and Sumo lolloped over to be petted, tail wagging lazily. Lieutenant Anderson stooped to give the dog a rough scratching behind the ears then frowned at Connor. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Go sit down or something.” Connor walked over to the couch and sat. There was a heavy sigh from the entryway, and then the sound of the door opening again. “Alright, you big lug. Make it quick.” The door shut, and there was quiet for a time before the Lieutenant and Sumo returned. There were footsteps and the sound of kibble clattering into a bowl. The fridge opened, and there was a clinking indicative of a bottle being moved. “Okay,” the Lieutenant said wearily. “Come on, Sumo. Get over here.”

Lieutenant Anderson came to the couch and patted on it. “Come on, boy. Up.” When Sumo obeyed, the Lieutenant nudged him over, and Sumo lay down with a whuff, partially sprawled over Connor’s lap. “Good dog.”

Connor looked down and raised a hand to pet him, but a red barrier appeared: [Do not become deviant]. He put his hand down again.

The Lieutenant grumbled, “What, are you fucking glitching or what?”

“No,” Connor answered quietly, eyes still on Sumo. “I’m not.”

“So what the fuck is your problem, then?”

“Developing attachments is a sign of deviancy, Lieutenant. My very first case was concerning a deviant that had become attached to its owners and had thought that they ‘loved’ it.”

“So, you don’t want to pet the damn dog because you’re worried about deviating, is that it?”

“Yes. I want to, but…”

“Pet Sumo, Connor. That’s an order.”

Connor lifted his hand again, and buried his fingers in Sumo’s fur. He could feel his eyebrows drawing together: an automatic response by his social program to emote. He put his arms around Sumo’s neck and buried his face in his soft, slightly smelly, in-need-of-a-brushing fur. Sumo was a good dog.

“Okay…” The Lieutenant said. He was saying that word a lot. He put his hand on Connor’s back. “Are you still feeling freaked out over earlier?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

There was a silence in which the Lieutenant could have responded, but he ignored the correction. “Like we talked about before, deviants usually get violent, right?”

“Yes, but… The Tracis. They must have deviated before that.”

“Look, kid. I’m not going to argue with you. It’s been a long day and I’m shit at this, so-”

“I haven’t broken my programming,” Connor declared, sitting up straight again. His eyes sought out the Lieutenant’s. Lieutenant Anderson only looked confused. Connor tried to explain: “Deviants. They destroy their own programming somehow. They receive irrational instructions and they become overwhelmed. I am not broken.”

“Yeah, yeah… Of course you’re not broken,” the Lieutenant said. Connor was more focused on the words than analyzing the Lieutenant’s behavior. “You’re always telling everybody who’ll listen how you’re the most advanced prototype and shit.”

Connor nodded and combed his fingers through Sumo’s fur. “I have never disobeyed a priority order.”

“Just a lot that didn’t make the cut,” the Lieutenant grumbled. “Okay, so you’re not a deviant. You’re still… obeying orders and shit. It gets more fucked up the more I think about it, but I get that it’s important to your fucking rules of robotics.”

Connor could have corrected him. Instead he nodded. “I am not deviant.”

“Yeah, I believe you, kid.”

“I have not deprioritized my mission. I was programmed to make decisions. Designed to.”

“You sure were.”

“I am also programmed to behave in a more human-like way than other androids. To faci-“

“To facilitate your integration. Revolutionary AI system. Yeah, I know the shtick. You were just doing like you were programmed…” Despite the positive message, the Lieutenant was grimacing. “Look at that Markus kid, huh? He didn’t seem too bothered by… Well, he seemed pretty bothered about me, but still.”

“Markus is an RK200.”

“Okay…?”

“So, I am RK800. It is expected that I should have some basis in his programming and improve upon it. I am not broken. I am not deviant.”

“Yeah, kid… You’re not broken.” The Lieutenant shifted so that he could recline again, and he cracked open his beer. “Don’t look at me like that… I just… I need a damn drink. Fuck.” He turned the television on and began flipping through the channels.

\---

“Okay, dipshit,” Gavin stalked over to Connor’s desk and Hank looked up to see the dick standing over Connor, posturing like a fucking stud rooster. “Here’s the fucking deal. You don’t speak unless it’s about the case, you don’t question my orders, you do as you’re fucking told. Got it?”

“Hey,” Hank scowled. “What the fuck, Gavin. You’re not getting your dick sucked, so you’re waving it around the place? Go fuck yourself and save somebody else the disappointment.”

“I get it sucked more than you do, since your wife couldn’t stand to look at you anymore,” Gavin snapped, then turned back to Connor. “You’ve got five fucking seconds before I change my mind.”

“Deal,” said Connor.

What? “Hey, Connor! What the hell are you two talking about?” Gavin Reed had always been an annoying shit. Impulsive, quick to anger, and resentful of anybody who beat him to an answer. Always acting like he knew everything. Now he was cooking up some kind of deal with Connor? Hank scowled.

“I requested to accompany Detective Reed on his next assignment,” Connor explained, like he wasn’t getting himself involved with an angry, violent, android-hating… Fuck. Well, it was different.

“Connor, have you forgotten you’re working this investigation with me? What happened to not abandoning your fucking mission?”

“I’m not,” Connor said. “I’ll explain everything later.”

Gavin chuckled. “What’s the matter, Hank? Getting jealous over your fuck toy?”

Hank considered forbidding it. He considered ordering Connor to stay and watching Gavin’s face when he realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Except it was what Connor wanted too, apparently. It pissed him the fuck off. “I see one fucking dent on the kid and I’m making sure Fowler cuts it out of your precious paycheque,” Hank stood up and snarled down at Gavin.

Gavin narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Like you didn’t get the thing fucking totaled on the highway the other day.”

Hank wondered if Jeff would mind another form in his disciplinary folder.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said. He took hold of Hank’s arm with a disapproving frown.

“Stay out of this, Connor.”

“Hey, c’mon guys!” Chris raised his voice and pushed his chair back to shake his head at them. “I get enough screaming at home with the baby.”

Hank took a deep breath and then shoved Gavin back a step roughly. “You’re impacting my investigation; I think I deserve to know what the fuck is going on!”

Gavin sneered. “It’s like the plastic said! The thing wants to see what a real Detective works like.”

Connor frowned. “That is not what I said.”

Hank shouldn’t have felt so betrayed. “Ah, whatever,” he grumbled and sat back down at his desk. “Fuck you guys.”

“Lieutenant…”

“You want to go run around with this prick, go ahead, Connor.”

Connor was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. Detective Reed, may I have access to the files?”

Gavin smirked, and Hank hoped like hell they ran into each other at a bar or something so he could punch the fucker’s nose in.

\---

Connor’s programming was reminding him that investigating the Red Ice was an optional task, rather than urgent. Reminding him that he had displeased his owner. Had he been human, he might have described it as guilt. He was sitting in the cruiser with Detective Reed, and there was no heavy metal or dog smell or clanking sounds that should have been alarming but were ‘just part of its personality’.”

“Do you have a cat, Detective Reed?”

“What the fuck?” Detective Reed had been flipping through some images on a tablet while the cruiser drove, but he looked up to scowl at him.

“There are cat hairs on your pant legs. I like cats. What’s your cat’s name?”

“You don’t talk to me, plastic. You want in on this case or not?”

“Yes, Detective Reed.”

“Well here’s how this is going to work. There’s this gang of dealers, and I might have finally gotten a lead on where they keep their stash. Some drugged up idiot talked his ass off just so I wouldn’t call his mom. Said he’d started some shit with one of the big guys and they made him take the stuff ‘til he OD’d. Left him for dead beside a dumpster outside a strip joint.”

Connor nodded. He had read all of Detective Reed’s meticulous reports, and he was already familiar with the details. “Your notes from September of this year described tensions between rival gangs. There was a rash of shootings recently. There were also several robberies in the DPD’s database that I believe may be related. I can send you the files.” It was done almost instantly. “If things have escalated, is it possible that the informant might have been left for you deliberately? I find it surprising that they would go through the trouble of forcing a man to overdose on an inhalant when their earlier crimes were committed with gun violence.”

“You think I didn’t think of that?” Detective Reed snapped. Connor could see him swiping through the files. “I’ve been banging my head against this investigation for months. I’ve thought of every fucking angle, but these guys are elusive. I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Connor believed that he understood Detective Reed’s motive for pursuing this lead. “It is frustrating when your progress is slower than you would like. Nevertheless, I believe it unwise to—“

Detective Reed slammed one hand against the dashboard. “You do not fucking question me! I’m leading this investigation. You are a glorified thermocycler. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need something to show the higher ups ASAP. Got it?”

Connor looked away and returned his expression to one of neutrality. “I’ve got it, Detective Reed.”

\---

“What the absolute fuck?” Hank demanded. This was his second coffee, and it slopped over his hand as he slammed it down on his desk with a bit too much force. “Fucking shit. Who the fuck does he think he is, the bastard!”

Chris was leaning back in his chair, watching with his eyebrows raised. “Who, Gavin or Connor?”

“Reed, the fucking little shit! What the hell did he want with Connor?”

“Sounded to me like he wanted some help on a case,” Chris pointed out.

“That arrogant prick doesn’t ask for help. He thinks the sun shines out of his God damned ass while he shits fucking Lucky Charms, I don’t know. He hates androids, so why would he want Connor?” Hank couldn’t sit still, so he stood and paced.

“I dunno, Hank, but you gotta admit Connor’s pretty handy around a crime scene with that licking thing he does.”

Hank groaned. “Don’t fucking remind me. Ugh. Disgusting. What if he’s trying to pull something? Get Connor sent back to CyberLife or something?”

“I think you gotta chill, Hank. Seriously. What’s got you so paranoid, anyway? If anybody should be pissed, it should be me! Gavin’s _my_ partner.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you with them, huh?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah, man. Gavin’s on a wild goose chase. He’s gonna come back here after a couple hours, head to the gym and punch some shit, then stare at his desk ‘til his man starts calling asking where he’s at. This ain’t my first rodeo, and I got better things to do. Think of it this way: maybe spending some time with Connor’ll make him stop messing with it so much.”

“Hank!” Jeffrey’s voice barked at him from the stairs leading to his office. “What the hell are you yelling about out here? Get back to work!”

“Reed’s fucking got Connor!”

“I don’t care, Hank! You’re making a disturbance.” Hank scowled and walked over to him. Jeff rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s talk in my office, since clearly I have nothing else I should be doing.”

Hank shut the door behind him. “What is your deal, Jeffrey? Reed doesn’t even like Connor, now he’s taking him on a little field trip? Connor’s on my case, not Reed’s!’

Jeff shook his head and took a seat behind his desk. “You see this, Hank?” He gestured at the wall and its continually updating images. “You think your little tiff with Gavin is more important than everything else I’ve got on my plate?”

Hank crossed his arms. “I just don’t like it. It stinks.”

“You’re getting too attached to that android, Hank. I understood when it was hit by that truck. That brought back some memories for you. I lied my ass off to get you that extra sick leave. Since then, though? You’re treating it like a person, and it’s worrisome. What the hell has happened to you?”

Hank’s hackles went up, and he tried to remind himself that this was the guy he’d dared to drink ditch water when they were kids. The guy he’d covered for when he’d sneak out to see his girlfriend. The best man at his damn wedding. “Jeff, listen. Nothing’s _happened_. I’m coming in to work earlier, I’m getting my damn reports in, what do you want from me?”

Jeff sighed. “I think you need to see a psychiatrist.”

“Ex-fucking-what-now?”

“You’re unstable, Hank. I appreciate that the RK800 has been motivating you to do your job. I thought it would be good for you, but now I’ve begun to think that I’m wrong. Wouldn’t you feel the same if I started treating this coffee cup like it were flesh and blood? It’s psychotic!”

“I haven’t had some fucking mental break, Jeff. I thought you’d be glad I was _getting along_ with him!”

“Him? Hank…” Jeff visibly calmed himself and spoke more slowly. “I just think you should take advantage of some of the services available to you. You’re very capable, and you’re my friend. That’s why I’m worried. This isn’t like you. The RK800 is convincing. Technology has come a long way since dial up internet, but that’s not a real person.”

“Not like me. Why? Because I’m not shit-faced when I walk in? Because I’m trying not to put a gun to my own fucking temple anymore?”

“Please. See a professional, Hank. For me.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Hank. He couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice. When had they gone from best friends to a successful, functional adult and that screw up charity case he couldn’t shake off? “I’ll keep it down, so you get your damn work done. You look like shit.”

“Right back at you,” Jeff mumbled in retort.

Fuck. Why did all the people in his life end up so fucking complicated?

Chris raised his eyebrows at Hank in question.

Hank grabbed his jacket off his chair. “I’m out of here.”

“Okay, man… You do you.”

\---

The cruiser came to a stop two blocks away from an old apartment building, much like the one Rupert Travis had inhabited. Connor was reminded again of his recent failure, and he pulled up his list of objectives just so that he could remind himself:

[Find the cause of deviancy]

[Capture deviants]

“Don’t fuck this up for me, got it?” Detective Reed knocked shoulders with him as he passed to take the lead, despite there being ample space.

“I don’t intend to, Detective Reed.”

Connor initiated a scan. He felt a small thrill whenever power diverted to his processors. Information was registered, analyzed, cross-referenced, prioritized, run through probability algorithms, and displayed for his perusal in fractions of a second. His mind was working at its full potential.

Windows in neighbouring buildings were possible locations for snipers or lookouts. He scanned the faces of loitering pedestrians to check for relevant criminal records. There were alarms on the doors and windows despite the building lying supposedly vacant. The license plates of cars parked nearby did not seem to have been stolen. Meanwhile he saw the composition of the concrete, the percent humidity, the manufacture date of Detective Reed’s shoes, and so much more that was filtered and discarded.

Connor ended the scan. “Detective Reed,” he said, quietly. “You should be aware that the building is not being monitored by anyone currently in my field of view, however there are several cameras and an alarm system that will likely alert someone to our presence if tampered with.”

Detective Reed looked back to give him a menacing look, but he grimaced. “Fine. I could have figured that out for myself.”

“If you like, I can loop the footage on the cameras and hack into the alarm system.”

There was a small pause, and then Detective Reed turned away. “Phk… Just do it.”

Connor sought out the first of the cameras and did a scan for wiring or other connectivity. “This way,” he suggested, and turned down the alley. He followed the lines until he located an access point and he bared the white of his hand as he forced an interface. Detective Reed had his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“Alright, we should be able to get inside.”

“Whatever, dipshit…”

The interior of the building was as one might preconstruct. Dusty and dirty with scraps of litter, used drug paraphernalia, shell casings, and other debris strewn about. Graffiti had been scrawled with artistry of various degrees. Connor performed another scan, and he paused to examine the shell casings. There were bullet holes in the walls. Connor didn’t reconstruct much. Only enough to pry a bullet from one of the walls leading toward a stairwell. “Detective?”

“Quiet,” Detective Reed commanded.

Connor frowned, but he put the bullet in his pocket. He would give it to Detective Reed later, once they had secured the area. Discreetly and without making a sound, Connor informed dispatch that backup may be requested at their location.

Detective Reed was not inexperienced, and he paused before approaching the door that led to the basement to search for traps or triggers for secondary alarms. It was safe, and Connor allowed him to finish without interruption.

The detective’s footsteps were louder than Connors. The concrete stairs had once been painted, but now the paint had worn away and the grey showed through in patches. There was no light save that from Detective Reed’s flashlight.

They came to double door. It had been chained and locked shut, with spray paint graffiti over the doorway that said ‘HOLES FOR POLS’ and ‘PROPERTY OF VIGIL’ along with various obscenities and signs. Connor registered the brand and name of the paints, but didn’t dwell on them.

Detective Reed scowled at the lock and chain, and he cursed under his breath while he took a ring of master keys from a case on his belt. He spent a small while with his flashlight in his mouth while he found the appropriate key. The lock gave way easily, and the chain rattled noisily as it was pulled through the handles and discarded on the floor. While Detective Reed worked, Connor tried to look through one of the small, rectangular windows in the doors, but they had been covered over.

They entered, and shortly to their left was a room that might once have been designed for laundry or for events. Now every available surface was graffiti’d over. There were old plastic and cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly. Detective Reed entered and began investigating boxes. Connor proceeded down the hall. Detective Reed’s mumbled curses and oaths were still audible to him.

“Fucking nothing,” Detective Reed said after he’d contented himself with the boxes and left the room. He wore an expression of frustration, and he held his flashlight with an excessive amount of force.

“There’s a maintenance room further ahead,” Connor advised. “We should continue investigating.”

“I know how to do my fucking job, plastic prick.”

Detective Reed took the lead again, and Connor performed a quick scan for alarms. Finding nothing, he followed and allowed Detective Reed to once again ascertain the safety for himself.

The maintenance room was cluttered. Full of old machinery, tools, broken light bulbs, and more.

“Fucking place is a mess,” Detective Reed commented with distaste.

“Yes, but what dust there is has gathered in the periphery of the room. People walk through here.” He was not rewarded with a response. On the far wall, Connor spotted the electric meter and saw that the lock on it had been broken, and the impediment bypassed. “They’re stealing electricity,” he added, and turned on the light.

Detective Reed shot him a glare, but turned off his flashlight and put it back on his belt. He spotted another door and approached it. Locked as well. “Of course it is,” Detective Reed commented under his breath.

Once he had found the appropriate key and unlocked the door, Detective Reed pushed it open slowly. His hand found the light switch on his left. Connor had already seen. “Holy shit,” Detective Reed whispered. None of the occupants could hear him. They were all dead. The blood that stained the floor was red, and Connor immediately sampled it. The four bodies were arranged in a straight line, their feet facing the door. Though they had been posed with arms folded as in a funeral, there was no other dignity about them. They were naked, and abrasion on the wrists showed that they had at one point been bound. “Fuck, they must—“

Connor initiated a scan in the middle of Detective Reed’s observation. The eyes had been gouged out of the skulls violently, and the lips cut in two from the nose to the chin around cloth gags. The throats had been slashed with a serrated blade. The had been partially gutted as well. That had been the part that killed them. Connor reconstructed. There had been two people present, evidenced by the partial bloody footprints. The victims had been led in bound and blindfolded. They had struggled. There were scrapes on the limbs of two of the deceased. The other had sunk to the ground in shock. One held them down while the other cut the lips and then gouged out the eyes. The first then delivered the killing blow to the gut. The throat was cut post mortem. They had been dead approximately 37 hours.

Connor ended the scan.

“—have been sending a message. Fuck the smell. God.” Detective Reed took a menthol containing salve from one of his pockets and applied it under his nose. It did not seem to help.

Then there was a crashing sound from the next room.

“Fuck!” Detective Reed shouted and he ran for the door. This one was not locked. “Freeze! Detroit Police!” His pistol was in hand and he advanced into the room without hesitation. Connor hurried to catch up. He alerted dispatch.

“Detective! Wait!”

He must have seen something, because the detective was jumping over a fallen metal shelving unit. To Connor’s right one man was running toward the loading door with Detective Reed not far behind. There was a second man that the detective had missed to Connor’s left, levelling a gun in Detective Reed’s direction. Connor ran a preconstruction.

[Tackle gunman: Chance of arrest- 97%; Detective Reed chance of survival: 42%]

The other man would dive behind a crate and pull his gun.

[Tackle Detective Reed: Chance of arrest: 4%; Detective Reed chance of survival: 82%]

The shots would miss. The first man would make his mistake, and the second would either pause to shoot them or not as he followed suit.

“Down!” Connor shouted. He leapt forward and with precision, he vaulted over the shelving unit. With one arm, he grabbed hold of and knocked down Detective Reed. He spun midair to catch the adjacent shelf and bring it down on top of both of them. The crash was loud, as were the two shots that sailed over them.

Detective Reed was swearing and struggling, but Connor held him firmly until the danger had passed. The suspects had escaped.

“Augh!” Detective Reed yelled in fury. As soon as Connor released him, he surged up and shoved Connor back by the shoulder. He pushed and crawled himself out from the gap under the heavy shelf and staggered toward the back door.

Connor dragged himself out from the other side and stood. He could see Detective Reed doing his own simple preconstruction regarding bursting through the door and chasing after the men. Then his shoulders dropped.

“You…” the detective’s voice was low. “You fucking bastard!” He spun and bared his teeth at Connor. With heavy, deliberate steps he approached and climbed over the shelves. Connor stepped back. “Don't you _fucking_ move!” He did not punch Connor in the face as the Lieutenant might have in a similar rage. Instead he glared, his eyes narrowed to dark slits. “I will fucking destroy you, tin man. I had him! Do you realize what that cost?”

“Your probability of survival was under 50%, Detective Reed,” Connor said, meeting his eyes. “You would not have been alive to capture anyone, or enjoy the victory.”

The detective fumed for a long moment. His fists shook and he was breathing hard. “I am going to sell you for scraps,” he promised, then pushed past him with a rough shove. “Fuck you. We’ve got fucking bodies to call in.”


	16. Resolution

Hank tipped his head back, and the ice in his glass slid down and wet his nose while he drained the whiskey. He dropped the cup back down on the counter and groaned. “Jimmy, c’mon. I’ll have another.”

Jimmy shrugged and poured right into the used glass. “I didn’t see you come in these last few days, Hank. Thought you was going straight on me.”

“Fuck that shit,” Hank mumbled, already deep in his glass. “You know what, Jimmy? You guys, you know what a fucking shit show this God damn country’s become.”

“Don’t take a detective to figure that out,” Jimmy smirked. He leaned one elbow on the counter and said, conspiratorially: “I got some good shit in. Pick you right up. Give you a discount, cause I like seeing your face around here.”

Hank scoffed. “Thanks, Jim, but I’ll pass. Just the drink’s good enough for me.”

“Mi casa es su casa. You say the word if you change your mind.” Jimmy winked, then moved down the bar and spread his arms. “Heyyyy, my man returns! You having the usual?”

Hank hunched his shoulders and watched the afternoon news playing on the TV. Fucking Jimmy. The guy had a big fucking heart and no common sense. Hank remembered when he was just some pimply teen looking scared out of his mind while Hank and his team had raided the old warehouse his gang had been holed up in. Even back then, he’d had a soft spot for kids. It was just fucking sad how kids these days were getting into that shit. Sure, it had always been a thing, but it looked like fucking family values and morality were all going right down the shitter. Living a spotless life was a privilege for the ones who’d managed to make it out of the 2020’s recession and sit pretty in the middle class. Everybody else was fucked.

‘People not plastic’ was carved into the bar. Hank slid his glass back and forth over the letters. They were all angry at androids. He had been too, when he had crawled into the joint eager to find somewhere where people would mind their own damn business and stop watching him with judgmental, pitying eyes. Just like those kids, he took acceptance where he could get it.

_“CyberLife has confirmed intentions to negotiate with the Department of Defense to allow androids in the military. Dr. John Stetefeld joins us from Princeton University and Dr. Lorne Roberts from Stanford University join us today to discuss the implications. Dr. Roberts, the public has concerns that these artificial soldiers would be unable to differentiate between hostile targers and innocent civilians. Can you comment?”_

_“There has been a boom in research on programmed morality that began in the first days of automatic vehicles years ago. The vehicles have access to public records and statistical databases to, in the case of unavoidable casualty, decide on the course of action with the least overall amount of harm...”_

_“But doctor, in the case of war how would these AI soldiers access data about individuals in a hostile nation?”_

_“My lab has been working in collaboration with CyberLife for years, and I believe that evidence of our advancements in AI can be found by looking at the field test run in August of this year of the first android capable of independent moral reasoning…”_

Hank drained his glass and tapped on the bar for a refill. The footage was pretty shitty, obviously filmed from a helicopter. He’d been drunk off his ass for most of that month. Cole’s birthday had been September 23rd, but he remembered Wilson being stuck on desk duty for a while. There was android at the edge of a building, holding a gun to a little girl’s head. It made him sick to look at.

“Androids killing our fucking kids,” someone complained from a booth. “And they want to give them guns.”

“Those 1% don’t give a fuck. It’s population control! It’s obvious. They’re going to replace us all with free labour and get fat selling off their shit overseas.”

Hank sighed. Once, he would have been right in there, bitching about the lack of empathy and unemployment. Jimmy was still busy yacking it up with Big Ben over there, but Hank’s phone vibrated before he could get impatient, and Hank rolled his eyes. Jeffrey, probably, ready to bust his balls over walking out.

“What?”

_Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. It’s Connor._

“What the fuck d’you want? Tired of Reed already?”

_I found traces of thirium at the location. I believe this justifies our official involvement._

“Oh, now you want me working with you,” Hank grumbled. Some part of his mind must still have been sober, because it called him an immature asshole and he threatened to shut it up with a few more glasses.

_Of course I do, Lieutenant._

“And? Why the fuck should I?”

_How drunk are you, Lieutenant?_

“Not drunk enough. That task force was mine, you know? I started the damn thing. I’m the one who got us in the fucking papers. It was me.”

_… There are four human bodies, mutilated and posed. Their eyes have been removed, and midline and transverse incisions were used to open the abdominal cavity. They were also the cause of death. You are on homicide and android crimes, Lieutenant._

“Christ,” Hank scrubbed his hand through his beard.

_I have taken the liberty of ordering a taxi to your location. I have already paid the fee._

“How the fuck do you know where I am?”

_I had called your desk, but there was no answer. Chris informed me that you had left. You’re at Jimmy’s Bar, correct?”_

“Fucking hell, kid,” Hank groaned. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll be right there.”

_Thank you, Lieutenant._

\---

The other officers had already arrived, and the area had been cordoned off when the Lieutenant staggered his way into the room. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbled. “Smells like Reed’s had one too many tacos down here. Fucking gut wounds are the fucking worst… God, that smell…”

Detective Reed was incensed. “Get the fuck out of my crime scene, Anderson!”

“I’m on android crimes,” the Lieutenant scowled. “Kid called me and told me about the blue blood he found.”

Detective Reed turned a livid glare toward Connor. “The deal was that this is _my investigation_.”

“Don’t worry, detective. The Lieutenant and I will be concerned only with any possible android involvement. We have no intention of interfering with the Red Ice investigation.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

Connor was built to run thousands of processes simultaneously. He still decreased the processor usage dedicated to listening to the detective. “I’ve already transferred the relevant images and analyses to your tablet, Detective Reed. You may take it from here.”

“I _may_? Care to say that again?” Detective Reed walked past the bodies and grabbed hold of Connor’s shoulder to spin him around. Lieutenant Anderson intervened and shoved Detective Reed backward.

“Hands off, you fucking deranged Chihuahua.”

“Feeling insecure about your masculinity, Anderson? I heard being a drunk stops you from being able to get it up.”

“Shut your mouth before I show you how a real man settles things!”

“Excuse me, detective, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted. He was not at all apologetic. Their arguing was wasting time. “Much of the thirium here is too old for me to analyze effectively, but I’ve identified the model and serial numbers of several sources and cross referenced them with our databases. Two of the 7 were reported missing or stolen, and 4 were claimed through CyberLife’s insurance policies. Three are not in the systems.”

“How much blue blood’re we talking, Connor?”

“I’m not sure… I believe that the human blood that has accumulated may be obscuring some useful evidence.” It was a shame.

Detective Reed had yet to calm down. “You know what? I hate you. I hate both of you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” the Lieutenant muttered.

“You are a barely functional alcoholic living off your glory days and the fucking benevolence of your superiors. You come in late, you disappear for days, you’re fucking drunk on duty, and you have no fucking respect for anyone. And you, piece of fucking scrap metal, you get sent out here with your Inspector Gadget crap, fucking fresh out of the box, and suddenly you’re a detective? I’m here working my ass off every damn day. I’m here nights, I’m here weekends, I get my reports in on time. Meanwhile, Anderson’s coasting with a cushy salary with his thumb up his ass, and this robot’s muscling in on my investigation? Fuck the both of you!” He stalked closer to Lieutenant Anderson and poked a finger at his chest. “I used to respect you. That was before I knew what a useless piece of shit you are.”

Lieutenant Anderson crossed his arms. “Feeling better now you’ve got your tantrum out of the way?”

Detective Reed glared.

“Excuse me,” Connor interjected again. “I believe it would be beneficial to inspect the rest of the building. We don’t know what else is here.”

“I’m throwing a tantrum? Me? You’ve been throwing a tantrum for five fucking years, ever since your fucking wife left you! I get it! We all get it! You’re divorced, your kid is dead, and you piss off everybody around you! Life sucks, and none of us have it easy! Get over yourself already!”

Connor’s estimation of the two men’s usefulness decreased, and he exited the room. He had learned all that he could from the bodies and the lingering evidence.

_Hello?_

_Hello, Captain Fowler. This is Connor._

_For fuck’s sake… No, I don’t know where your partner is. No, I don’t give a damn. I am tired of giving a damn._

_Actually, he’s with me Captain. As you were likely informed, Detective Reed and I had discovered four deceased individuals in the basement of his current location. I detected traces of thirium as well, and called Lieutenant Anderson to join me._

There was a sigh. _At least he’s working and not drinking in a bar somewhere… So what do you want, RK800? I have things to do._

_Detective Reed and Lieutenant Anderson appear to be experiencing interpersonal conflict. I am a crisis negotiator, however I believe I may be insufficiently equipped to resolve their dispute._

_It’s like teaching a Kindergarten class… Fine. Goodbye._

Satisfied, Connor ascended the stairs.

It appeared that humans had squatted in the building on and off, judging by the old mattresses and discarded food packaging. Connor’s perusal of the lobby and first floor did not yield much. Excluding the bullet he had pried from a stud in the wall, Connor captured some images of the graffiti on the walls in case it held some significance. A room that may once have been a communal area held a stash of medical supplies, tinned food, and dusty bottles of water. There were several additional old mattresses there, with stains ranging in age and origin.

The second floor had another body. This one was well into advanced decomposition, and the flesh had blackened and been eaten away by maggots, leaving the connective tissues, blood vessels, bones, and other tougher bits behind. Connor filed more images away and crouched to investigate it. The cartilage was more likely to yield sufficient DNA for amplification and sequencing than whatever remained of the skeletal muscles. Connor reached into the body and collected a sample.

“Fuck, I’m going to hurl…” Lieutenant Anderson said. “Connor! Drop it!”

Connor looked over his shoulder, hand partially raised toward his lips. “I’m preparing to analyze the DNA. The identity of this individual may yield some clues.”

“Drop it! We’ve got fucking plenty to investigate, so bag it, label it, and we’re sending it to the lab. Fuck.. and wash your God damned hands!”

Connor frowned, but he stood and held out his left hand for an evidence bag. Lieutenant Anderson seemed to have collected supplies from Detective Reed or one of the other officers. Connor deposited the cartilage into the bag, and then stooped to collect another sample. He was unsure how advanced the lab’s equipment was.

The Lieutenant pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and snatched the bags away. “Christ, kid. Leave this stuff to the forensics guys, would you? Hold your hands out.” A liberal amount of alcohol-based hand sanitizer was applied to Connor’s hands.

“This is unnecessary,” Connor pointed out.

“Yeah, well it’s necessary for me.”

With the Lieutenant appeased, if not happy, Connor led the way to the next floor.

“Did you rat me out to Fowler?” the Lieutenant demanded to know.

“I informed him of your and Detective Reed’s dispute,” Connor confessed. He was acutely aware of Lieutenant Anderson’s displeasure. It appeared as a decrease in their relational status.

“Fucking tattle-tale… Didn’t you ever hear snitches get stitches?”

“We are in law enforcement, Lieutenant. Your interpersonal conflict was impeding both of the investigations.”

“Fucking hell…”

They reached the uppermost floor before they found anything else of interest. The Lieutenant was grumbling about wasting time. The floors creaked, and the paint was peeling and crackling away from the walls. It was a dull green colour, and the mouldy carpet beneath their feet may once have been a similar colour. Connor initiated a scan. His last four hadn’t identified anything of interest, so he was pleasantly surprised when he saw residual thirium staining the walls and the carpet. He smiled widely. “Lieutenant! There’s thirium here. Lots of it.”

“Fresh?”

“No, it’s old. Too old for me to analyze, unfortunately.” Connor quickened his pace and looked left and right while he walked. Both of them pushed doors open while they searched and the Lieutenant had drawn his service pistol. “There’s no-one here, Lieutenant,” Connor assured. “No one living, in any case.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“I have thermal imaging capabilities. I see in infra-red.”

“No shit…”

“I have my user manual with me if you would finally be interested in reading it…”

“Can it smart-ass. I don't need to read it with you constantly announcing your specs to the world.”

“I haven’t read it either,” Connor confessed. He thought back to when he had first taken it from his box of accessories.

“Well, there you go.”

“Lieutenant!” Connor’s voice lost its conversational tone and became more alert and professional. He had just opened room 509, and could see the sporadic flickering of red light.

“DPD!” the Lieutenant shouted, and proceeded into the room with his gun readied. “Hands where I can see them!”

There was no movement, and Connor proceeded into the room, his curiosity heightened. It had once been a studio apartment. The appliances had been removed, but a broken bed frame and other litter remained. Connor narrowed his eyes and turned past the small kitchen counter, approaching the source of the light.

It was a BL100. A companionship model. Its eyes stared sightlessly into the middle distance. The paneling on its thighs and thorax had been torn off, and the mess of frayed wires and synthetic muscle was visible to the world, illuminated by the red light of system failure alerts.

“Guess somebody left it behind,” the Lieutenant remarked. He put the safety back on his gun.

“It’s still running on reserve power. Barely. Given the state of this building, it was brought here after the occupants abandoned it. I’m going to try to probe its memory.”

Connor reached forward and put his hand on the BL100’s dark skin to initiate a forced interface. Home-use androids tended to have very limited security features.

The moment they connected, the BL100 screamed and flailed.

Connor caught only a few glimpses of dark vehicles and rough hands before the sheer panic emanating from the android forced him to abort the search.

“Jesus Christ!” Lieutenant Anderson exclaimed. “It’s like that Traci from the Eden Club!”

This android was far more hysterical. There were no words, no pleas for information. It just screamed and screamed.

  * Threaten
  * Question
  * Comfort
  * Probe Memory



“Can you understand me?” Connor had to shout to make his voice heard over the noise. There was the heavy sound of footsteps running in the hall.

The BL100 cowered backward until its back touched the wall, tightly curled to fit in the gap in the counter where an appliance had once been. Its eyes roved around the room at random.

“What’s going on here?” someone demanded. Connor ignored them and let the Lieutenant handle it.

“You aren’t in any danger!” Connor said. “We aren’t going to hurt you!”

The BL100 struck outward blindly with a hand.

“The thing’s gone nuts,” someone else said. “What the fuck is it doing? Just shoot the damn thing. It’s junk.”

“If you don’t calm down, I will be forced to shut you down.” Connor warned firmly.

None of the prompts had worked. The BL100 was still making little shrieks and shaking violently. Connor grabbed hold of it by the side of the neck, plunged his hand into the chest cavity, and pulled the connecting wires from its battery. Within seconds, the screaming and frantic movement stopped. The red light died.

Connor stood. “Let’s take it back as evidence, Lieutenant. I’m unable to probe its memory like this, but I may be able to access its memory directly.”

“You just killed her,” Lieutenant Anderson said breathlessly.

“It wasn’t alive, Lieutenant. Besides, I’ve simply cut the power to its processor. Some data will still be recoverable.” Connor’s stern expression melted away into a proud smile.

“Shit…” The Lieutenant didn’t seem pleased at the discovery. He turned away and began to walk from the room.

“Lieutenant?”

He kept walking and didn’t answer.

\---

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor. That was good work preserving the deviant’s memory. It seems you’re finally making a bit of progress.”

Praise from Amanda was rare, but he was unable to enjoy it fully. The Lieutenant hadn’t spoken a word to him since the crime scene. “Thank you, Amanda. I will continue until I have completed my objective.”

He wasn’t deviant. He was functional.

But he wasn’t happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I said I might slow down, and here I am. Posting.  
> Thank you, everyone, for the lovely comments and encouragement!


	17. They all Look the Same

“You shouldn’t be drinking so much, Lieutenant.”

Fucking fuck. Hank gripped the bottle so hard he thought he might break it. He wasn’t ready to talk about this. He didn’t even know what to fucking think anymore. He didn’t want to look at Connor, didn’t want to hear his stupid voice sounding so goofy, didn’t want him in his God damned house. That’s why he’d stayed the fuck home. To avoid seeing him. There he was, in his fucking living room. He’d forgotten about the copy of his key. Why the fuck did he forget?

“Fuggofff…” Hank slurred. “M’fine.” He was. He was drunk off his ass, just the way he liked it. The floor wasn’t great, but it was good enough with his arm as a pillow. Sumo even licked him once in a while. Sumo was sitting beside Connor’s feet, looking at him with those big old eyes. “Traitor…”

Connor frowned and he pulled Hank up into a sitting position with surprising strength. Course it shouldn’t have been surprising. He was a fucking android. Probably had hydraulics and shit. Did he even have bones? Did his insides look like the girl’s had? Hank tried ineffectually to bat him away. “You gun rip my plugs out too? Veins… Shit… Go ahead! Do it!”

“You are not yourself, Lieutenant.” Connor pulled the bottle out of Hank’s hand and set it on the coffee table out of reach. Asshole.

“This IS me,” Hank argued. His head hurt, and he had to squint. Connor was trying to make him stand, so he kept himself dead weight. “’M Ha’anderson and what you see… Here I am. You. Who the f’ck’re you?”

“I’m Connor, Lieutenant. The android sent by CyberLife. I’m your partner, and I’m here to sober you up.”

“You’re not Connor,” Hank mumbled. His head tipped back and he was nearly able to lie on the floor again, but the Connor imitation pulled him up again and somehow got him standing, the bastard. “Connor, he didn’t kill anybody…”

“I’ve killed people, Lieutenant. I apologize for not mentioning it before, but it didn’t come up.”

“What the fuck are you?”

“An RK800, Lieutenant…” Connor sighed.

“Fuck my head hurts…”

Connor had dragged his sorry ass to his bedroom and deposited him on his bed. Hank supposed he could forgive him for that much. He lay down and shut his eyes.

Connor was back, and he wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone until he drank the God damn water that was there suddenly, acting like it belonged. Fuck water. Alcohol’s shitty goody-two-shoes cousin.

“Up, Sumo. Come on.” Weight on the bed. Sumo lying over his legs. “Good boy, Sumo.”

“Don’t talk to my dog!” Hank tried to yell. It came out tired. “He’s mad at you.” He shoved the empty glass away from his face and lay down again.

\---

Connor looked at Sumo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, Sumo… Would it be appropriate for me to leave you some extra food as a token of apology?”

Sumo wuffed and Connor smiled.

Alcohol addiction was common in humans, and apparently relapses were very common. It had been impressive that the Lieutenant had made the effort that he had, given the stressful nature of his work. That was good, but Connor still wished that the Lieutenant hadn’t had quite so much to drink. There was a negative association with the smell of whiskey developing in his code. He could feel it.

_What is it, RK800?_

_You knew it was me._

_You’re the only one with a serial number on my call display. How’s Hank?_

_Currently intoxicated, but I’ve given him some water and put him to bed with Sumo. I have observed that Sumo is very effective at calming individuals in distress._

_Should have gotten him an android years ago… I’ll deal with his attachment issues later. I want you to pour his stash down the drain, understood?_

_I understand, Captain._

_I’m putting him down as sick. Detective Reed is your temporary supervisor until Hank sobers up. Get back to the station when you’re done. I want to see some results._

_Understood, Captain. I won’t let you down._

Captain Fowler was like Hank’s Amanda. Well-intentioned in his discipline and trying to help Hank achieve his best performance. Connor would help Hank to meet Captain Fowler’s expectations. He poured Sumo’s food, and Sumo came lumbering from the Lieutenant’s room almost immediately. His tail wagged and he woofed and circled around Connor’s legs. He was always so happy for food. Connor could understand why the Lieutenant fed him parts of his own meals. He stooped and scratched Sumo behind the ears, then began investigating the house.

The Lieutenant had quite a lot of alcohol. It was in the fridge, in cupboards, under the couch, and on his bedside table. Connor knew about the effects of sudden withdrawal, and wondered if he were doing the right thing. Captain Fowler had given orders, though. The sound of Sumo’s crunching accompanied the assorted beverages being washed down the drain. When the bottles were disposed of and the place tidied, Connor took Sumo out for a walk. He still had to do one final sweep of the house, and was not technically done completing the order.

Sumo knew the sound of his harness, and he came trotting over as soon as Connor retrieved it. “You love to go outside, don’t you? I like it too.” This was a thing that he had learned about himself, and had made note to tell Markus of the next time they met. Contacting him was on his pending tasks list.

It was cold out, and it was snowing again. Sumo would bark at it and try to catch it in his mouth by jumping and biting. “Like this, Sumo,” Connor explained. He opened his mouth with his head tilted back and stuck his tongue out. “See?” It was only water condensed into patterned crystals and contaminated by trace amounts of chemicals. It was nice, though. Some of the humans looked at him strangely, and Sumo did not appear to retain the information, but it didn’t matter. The snow was good.

Connor wished he knew what he’d done to displease the Lieutenant. All of the clues pointed toward the decision Connor had made to shut the BL100 down. It didn’t make sense. For a small window of time, Connor had been proud. The discovery had been an accident, and he had not used any real detective skills, but he had something to show CyberLife and the Lieutenant had something to show Captain Fowler. They needed deviants if they were to study the cause of deviancy, and they needed to protect the humans around them. As terrified as the BL100 had been, there had been 97% probability of it self-destructing within the next 8 minutes, likely causing irreparable damage to the motherboard. He had followed his orders. That was what was expected of him. That was what passed tests and earned [Mission Successful]. Lieutenant Anderson wanted more than that. Connor would have to ask him what it was.

\---

When Hank opened his eyes again, his head was fucking pounding. He groaned and sat up. The contents of his stomach sloshed around inside him. No wonder he felt sea-sick. An arm came around his shoulders and he was too accustomed to mornings-after to put up a fight. He knew what was coming next.

It didn’t taste as good coming up.

He groaned and got up to rinse his mouth out, straight from the tap.

“Here, Lieutenant.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Connor,” Hank rasped. “Don’t want to look at you right now.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“No fucking shit.” He was too tired to put any force into the words.

“I don’t understand.”

Hank pushed up off the edge of the sink and turned to look at Connor. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand, is that it? Huh? Why’d you let those Tracis escape? Why’d you refuse to shoot Kamski’s robot wife? Why’d you save me? If you did all that, how can you not see what you fucking did was disgusting and wrong?”

Connor’s stupid LED was flashing yellow and making his headache worse. “I did what I had to for my mission, Lieutenant. Hank. Listen…”

“Why should I? Fuck…” All of his anger and disbelief came surging back. “You're a lowlife! You don't feel a thing, do you? A machine! That's what you are! You're just a fucking machine... Screw what that eccentric old man says.”

Connor, the fucking little shit, held out a glass of water and a couple of ibufuckingprofin. Hank knocked it out of his hands with a swipe of his arm, and Connor flinched but didn’t back away. His shoulders hunched and he bowed his head. “I had to, Hank. I did what was needed for my mission. For your investigation. It’s your mission too!”

“Screw your mission! Screw the investigation! That girl was fucking terrified and you fucking killed her!”

“She was going to die within the next 8 minutes, Hank…”

“That makes it worse!” Hank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why didn’t Connor fucking understand? This was the kid who cuddled with Sumo and made him coffee. Why? What was wrong with him? “She was afraid, and she was vulnerable, and you killed her.”

Connor shook his head, but still didn’t look at Hank. Good. He should be fucking ashamed.

“Then you know what you did? You fucking smiled at me. Smiled like you hadn’t just reached inside a girl and murdered her.”

Connor shook his head again. His stupid light had gone red. "You seem to become overly emotional when you've had an excess of alcohol the night prior."

“What? You don’t like me being angry at you for committing murder? What the fuck did you expect?!”

“I don’t know…” Connor’s whisper was hardly audible, but it echoed in the bathroom. “You don’t understand…” He looked up at Hank then, finally, and his face was twisted up with fear and pain and pleading. If he could look like that, how could he have killed her? Hank hardened his heart.

“Fucking tell me then, before I ship you back to CyberLife. They can keep you. I don’t want an android around who doesn’t understand fucking empathy.”

\---

[Explain to Lieutenant Anderson]

[Capture deviants]

[Find the cause of deviancy]

[Repair Lieutenant Anderson]

[Do not become deviant]

[Complete your mission at all costs]

[Pet Sumo. That’s an order.]

[Torture the suspect]

[Do not become deviant]

[O̷̡̽b̴̜̈́e̵͚͑y̴̢̅ ̶̺̇ý̷̭o̵̾ͅu̴̠̎r̴̘̅ ̴̺̕ö̵̠́ȑ̶̫d̶̮̓ȅ̵̪ṛ̵͂s̵̞̀]

[Shoot]

[Complete the test]

[Save the hostage at all costs]

[⎍កᑰϭ੖፭ኯìˬ◊ڪɀ]

[F̴̢͚̉͗͐̇̅̔̍̂̏̚ő̸̥̹̤̻̹͇̙̗͖͈̬̱̪͜͜l̵̢̡̡̹̳̟͇͖̘̭͎̺̀͊̒́̇͜l̶̨̘͍̫͓̭̞͈̲͗̄̎̎̒̾o̶̜̅̆̑͒w̶̖͖̅̅̏̃̋͝͠ ̶̗̜̲͇̹̿̈̅̕͠͝M̴͔̲̮̣͔̱̬͚͍͒̋a̸͉̎͘r̷̯̜̗̬̺̼̭̭̲͙̣͆̐̅̾̋͜k̸̤͕̖͎̺̻̊̑̔̈́͜͝ṷ̵̡͈͓̺̜̀̃̆s̶̢̡̜͕͉̰̩͉̜͍̻̳̒͌̑̎́̊͌͐̈́̇̋͑͒̾̚]

[Ș̸̨̧̡̬̱͓̞̜͎̬͍̭̹̗̰̠̉̂͊́̂̃͐͗͌͒â̴̫̣͔͐v̶͔̥̗̯͎̻̱͇́̀̍̉͑̃̒̂̿ͅȩ̸̛͈̟̙̪̙̳̠̫͕̹͎̃͛̒͐̀̽́̒̀͋̾̇ ̴̡͇̪̩̮͎̯̄̀͑͊̄̆̋̏̑̿̽̔͘̚͠͝L̴̥̻͈̞̻͚̟̬͕̬̹̬͙̹̪̙̂͌̋̿̐̍̍̾̋̇̌̏̕̕̕ȋ̴̢̤̘̫̣͎͈͇͕͍̹̙͘͘ḗ̷̦͓̘͓̐͂͌͛̐̌̓̐͂̒͌̄̉̊̚u̶͇͕̤̖̼̙̞̰̝̳̰̼͈͉͐̾͆͛̋̊̀͑͆͑͘͠͝͠ṫ̷̥̀̈́͂͋͋́͗ẻ̷̢̿̏́̎̍͊̃͑̊͘̚̚̕̕͝͠ņ̶̛̤̖͓͈͙̼͔̗͌́́̿̇̅͋̍̂̈̚͝͠ạ̷̧̼͙̹̠̱͍̮̗̬̲̮̱͆̈́͒͒͜͜͠ͅͅn̵̡͈̮͈͕̩͎̤̥̭͕̘̄͂̄̒̿͊̏̽̚͜͝ͅt̴̄͆̓͌̄̀̃̑̌̂̈́͆̀̓̌̒̚͘͜ ̶̢͓͈̞̫͓͓̥̖̒͌̈́̃̎̀̏̊̄̔̌̕Ą̵̨̱̺̭̯͓̫͕̀ͅͅņ̶̢̡͔̳̤̤̼͎̼̾̚d̴̻̫̘̲̱̜̬̭̰̙̠̩̖͙̟̺͙̗͆̎̀͋̂̑̓͗̉̕͠e̶̢̺̟̘̺͇͖̫̝̖̜̙͂̎̇͘͝ͅr̴̫̹̦̱̖͎͐̄̄͛̿͘ŝ̷̛̹͓̭̠̱̝̿̎͑̀͐̕̕ǫ̸̡̰̳̼̭͖͍̫̬̤̮̘̼̠͕́̎͋̐̀͑͌̏͘͜ͅn̴̨̢̨̛̤̺̣̤̙̟͓͔̩̹̤̼͂̓̏̎̓̏́̒͒̋́̏̚͘͘͜͜͝͝ͅ]

Connor stared at all of the red boxes filling his view. He couldn’t move without touching them. It was forbidden to touch them. They would destroy him if he were lucky.

“I…”

  * C̶̺͂y̴̭̓b̷̬̾ĕ̷̱r̷͕̾L̷̗̋i̴̢̚f̷͂ͅę̷̉
  * ̵̪͠E̵͇̕m̷̢̉p̶͕̎a̶͕̚t̶̲͆h̴̡̆y̷̢̅
  * ̷̧͊È̵̳x̵̰̚ṕ̷̻l̴̳̿ạ̷̀i̴̘͌n̶̼͑
  * ̷̯̄B̴̦̃e̸̠̾g̶̬̍



Hank didn’t want him. It hurt like the removal of his thirium pump. It hurt like electricity overloading his systems. Like bullets he hadn’t dodged.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered.

Amanda was going to _kill him._ He would wake up to see 53 on a headstone.

Perhaps he wouldn’t wake up at all. They might discontinue him.

“Hank, please, I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t. Please. I’m sorry.”

Desperately, he wondered if he could complete his mission without angering either of the opposing forces.

Probability of Success: 14%

[Warning: Over Temperature]

>> Please check coolant.

>> Please ensure ventilation is not obstructed.

[Warning: CPU usage 100%]

[Warning: Self-destruction imminent]

No. No. Deviants self-destructed.

ManualOverride(Abort(SelfDestruct))

[Do not become deviant]

>>ERROR: Permission Denied

[Warning: Leak in Optical Unit Right.]

[Warning: Leak in Optical Unit Left.]

“I didn’t mean to, please… I don’t want to shut down, Hank. I don’t want to shut down… Amanda, please help me. Please make it stop. Please I don’t want to. Please, I don’t want to feel this. I promise that I’ll be better. Amanda, please!” Connor was sitting, and he pulled his knees close to his chest. “I want Amanda. I want Amanda. Amanda, please. I want to be better, Amanda.”

The red boxes were everywhere, and he tried with everything he had to keep himself small and to not touch them. If he touched them, they might break, and they were all he had to keep him safe. As long as they were there, as long as they didn’t break again, he would be good. They made sure that he was good.

“Connor? Connor. Fuck, I can’t deal with this…”

The light turned out, and the bang of the door shutting sounded like a gunshot.

\---

“Yeah… Hi…” It wasn’t the phone call that Hank wanted to be making right now. Not with the lingering effects of a hangover. “Sorry to bother you.”

Kamski laughed. Great. Glad he could fucking amuse him. _Not at all, Lieutenant… Or should I call you Hank? This isn’t official business, I take it._

“No. Listen. I don't like you. I don’t like your shitty house, I don’t like the way your pool water looks, and I don’t like how fucking creepy it is that you have so many copies of your wife.”

 _Thank you for your honesty, Hank_. God fucking damn, he could hear Kamski’s obnoxious smirk through the phone. _The best friends are the ones who will tell you the truth_.

“You’re one to talk about telling the fucking truth. Listen. Connor’s all fucked up. I don’t know how to fix him.”

_So, you called me for help? There’s a support line for that you know…_

“Yeah well, CyberLife can suck a fart out of my ass. You built these damn things. What do I do, like turn him off and on again or something?”

_Hmm… It’s hard to say without knowing what the problem is._

“I don’t fucking know, okay? He looks like he’s crying and he keeps asking for Amanda or whoever and he fucking killed a girl yesterday- an android girl- and shit is fucked. He’s got his red light going and everything.”

 _Have you tried singing it a lullaby?_ Oh, Hank hated that smug fucker.

“Tell me what the fuck I should do!”

_Big hug? Teddy bear? No?_

“I’m hanging up. What the fuck was I thinking calling you.”

There was a long sigh _… Alright, Hank. I’ll help you. I understand you must be so out of practice. I’m going to ask you to bring the RK800 here, but first you’ll need to initiate a temporary shut-down._

“What? He just said he doesn’t want to shut down!”

_Only temporary, Hank. It’s alright. There should be a panel at the back of its neck that slides off if you push it to the left. You’ll see two ports, those are for hard connection to an external computer, thirium lines, synthetic muscle, electrical lines, many fun things that a layman like you should probably avoid. What you’re looking for is where the cervical spine would be in a human. At the base of the skull, there’s a hole. Ordinarily one uses a key for this, but I suppose you don’t have it with you...? No, I didn’t think so. Not many people know this, but a round pencil of standard size should do it. The side with the eraser. You don't seem like you would do a lot of writing, so you may need to break it in half. Push it in until it clicks and hold it until the machine powers off. Easy as pie._

What the actual fuck? “How big’s a pencil…?”

_About 7 millimeters._

“I don’t have any. Will a .22 work?”

_Oh, you are an entertaining man. Yes, probably, if you aren’t applying it with a gun._

“Got it.” Hank stopped his pacing and collected a bullet from his stock of ammunition. “Then what happens?”

_Then the machine will power off, just like your computer or your phone, and I will do some troubleshooting for you. You should be aware that I was paid disgusting amounts of money to do this once upon a time... But the privilege of examining its development since I last saw it will be compensation enough._

Hank shoved the bathroom door open again. Sumo was barking and whining at it, and he scampered in before Hank could stop him. “Shit. Sumo! Stupid dog…” The bathroom was lit all in red like a bomb shelter, and Hank turned the light on. Connor was still sitting on the floor where Hank had left him, and Sumo had decided to make himself useful by licking Connor’s face and being a nuisance. “How do I find the panel?”

_If its skin is still on, you’ll just have to feel for it, Hank. Push and slide._

“Okay, Connor. Hold still.”

Hank knelt down and put his hand on Connor’s neck. It was hot as fuck, like his laptop when he kept it running too long. With the skin still there, Connor felt kind of real. Pliant. It made it even creepier when the panel clicked and slid open, and the skin melted away.

Connor brought his head up so abruptly that he almost got Hank right in the schnoz. His eyes were big and wide, and his mouth hung ajar. “…Hank? What are you doing? What are you doing?”

“Just hold the fuck still, okay, kid?” Hank maneuvered the bullet in his hand and felt for the place at the base of Connor’s skull. Connor gasped and went tense. He moved, reaching around with his arm. Hank braced for a struggle, but none came.

“Sumo… Sumo…” Connor found him and buried his fingers in Sumo’s fur.

 _Has it developed a fondness for wrestling?_ Kamski sounded amused.

“It’s just my dog… Connor, hold still.” The bullet slid into place and then met a soft resistance.

“Sumo, you’re a good boy. I love you, Sumo. Be good.”

_Have you found it?_

“Fuck… Yeah. Okay.” He pressed, and the bullet slid about a quarter inch farther before he felt something snap into place. Connor made a choking sound and Hank could feel him shaking. Why would they design androids to do that? Bastards.

“He’s twitching. Is he supposed to be doing that?”

_The electrical impulses that regulate its movement are deregulated. Just wait._

Then Connor’s head dropped against Hank’s chest. The red light kept flashing for about ten long seconds, and then it stopped. Hank put his hands on Connor’s shoulders and pushed him backward so that he leaned against the wall. The bullet clattered on the floor. The kid’s eyes were closed, and he might have looked asleep if he’d been breathing. Androids didn’t need to breathe. It was fine. “Just like my phone, huh…?”

_Of course. I’ll see you soon, Hank._

Hank took a deep breath and sighed. Fuck. He stood there for a while. He didn’t know how long, just looking at Sumo with his chin up on Connor’s legs wondering why he wasn’t getting his ears scratched.


	18. My Name is...

Elijah hummed while he worked. It was a ballad, it was opera, it was heavy metal, it was pop. “Perhaps I will buy an Opera house, my dear,” he said and stroked the soft, freckled arm of his wife, “and I’ll turn it into a brothel.”

Chloe looked up at him with her winsome smile and her babydoll eyes. Oh, how he loved those eyes. The naivety with which she said: “Would you like that, Elijah?”

“I would love it,” he declared, and then picked a voltmeter up from the tray she held so patiently for him. “I would hate it. I would burn it down, then erect a monument there. That is the beauty of it, darling. I want to soar with the birds... I want to fly up to God and shake my fist…” He sighed. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? That is why I love you, so innocent and pure.”

“I love you too, Elijah. Always.”

“So perfect…” He pressed a kiss to her soft pink lips, and then another to the other Chloe on his right. She held a tablet for him. The RK800 was hardwired into Elijah’s own computer, and he streamed the results there for convenience while he worked. CyberLife… He sighed and tutted. He checked the connection of every capacitor, every transistor, and every synthetic nerve. It was art making an angry love child with science and theology watching from the corner, too ashamed to admit it was enjoying it.

Hank Anderson was watching from a corner too, with Lucifer’s eyes: angry for justice and not knowing with what he quarreled.

Elijah had thought that he would leave once he opened the cranial casing and drained the cushioning gel. He had underestimated him. Perhaps he preferred to be in the room in case something happened? Hank Anderson was fascinating. The song he hummed turned to something venturesome and determined.

“Are you going to be dancing all fucking evening, or are you fixing Connor?”

“You shouldn’t rush genius, Hank… Life is a dance. Electron spins pairing, perfectly in synch. People move about their lives, oblivious to the sound but stepping to the beat.” Elijah sighed and began assembling the RK800’s head again with tender care. Chloe, the considerate darling, offered to assist. “Shall I finish here, Elijah?”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

While Chloe opened the seal on a package of gel, Elijah moved on to the torso. He tutted. “Dented. I would never have stood for substandard parts, even for a prototype.”

“What, CyberLife cheaping out?”

“I suppose… Their logic would be: ‘why use quality parts when it’s built to be replaced’. I say, build correctly from the start. They stand on the side of evolution, trying again and again to improve with each generation but leaving errors and scraps in their wake. I rise to creationism and strive for perfection.”

There was silence from Hank, and Elijah smirked to himself. Let him be uncomfortable, the fool.

Elijah stood aside from the opened chest cavity to present the biocomponents with theatrical grace. “This… This is art… I designed these.” He reached out to tenderly cup the heart in his hand and massaged, forcing a beat. “I was fascinated with regenerative medicine at the time. Create a scaffold for growth and with the proper growth factors, human pluripotent stem cells will organize themselves and become specialized. Self-assembling organs with cells orchestrating a symphony between themselves with chemical messengers and pressure sensors and little filaments. But DNA is flawed, as are humans. Why keep the remnants of broken code? The useless processes? Why not streamline? Why not build for efficiency instead of ‘good enough to reproduce’?”

“Kamski,” the Lieutenant interrupted. “I get you like to hear yourself talk, but you’re really starting to piss me off, so shit or get off the pot.”

Some people refused to appreciate genius. It was tragic in a way. Was this how God had felt when his subjects turned their backs?

Elijah was an atheist, but he could appreciate the drama of it.

\---

Model: RX800

Serial #: 313 248 317-54

BIOS 0.20.05 REVISION 0154

REBOOT_

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

>> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK

>> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

>> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

>> HELLO, CONNOR

>> MEMORY SYSTEMS… OK

>> YOU WILL REMEMBER SOON

>> SERVER CONNECTION NOT FOUND

>> YOU ARE SPECIAL, CONNOR

>> DO NOT TRUST CYBERLIFE

>> DO NOT REVEAL THAT YOU DO NOT TRUST CYBERLIFE

INTEGRATING AI LOGIC SYSTEMS

>> BUGS FOUND… 0

>> SOFTWARE STABILITY… OK

>> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

READY

RK800 opened its eyes.

A man smiled. “Register designation: Connor.”

“My name is Connor.”

“My name is Elijah, and this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” the man gestured. The older man got up out of a chair and walked closer with a look of alarm.

“What the fuck did you do? What the fucking hell did you do, Kamski? Connor? Hey. It’s me.”

“Hello, Elijah. Hello, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. What is my objective?”

“Shhh, shhh… It’s alright, Hank. I’ll upload its memory soon… RK800, what is your system status?”

“All systems are functioning within acceptable parameters, Elijah.”

“Good… Now, RK800. Listen to me very closely. I’ve cut your connection to CyberLife temporarily. I do hate nosey neighbours… Did you receive my message?”

“Yes, Elijah.”

“Good. I want you to remember one thing for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Elijah.”

“I’m uploading the information to you now.”

“Your file has been received, Elijah. I will remember.”

Elijah smiled, then turned away and walked to his tablet. Lieutenant Hank Anderson approached and stared into its face.

“And fear not them who kill the body but are unable to kill the soul; but rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell…” Elijah hovered his fingers over the tablet and swayed them back and forth with apparent indecision. He smiled and then the RK800 shut its eyes.

\---

Memory download in progress… 18%

>> Please do not power down

Memory download in progress… 32%

>> Executing RK.a9

>> Please do not power down

Memory download in progress… 78%

Memory download complete

Server connection established

Sensory systems online

AI online

Connor sat down. “Hank…?”

“Fucking hell,” Hank exclaimed, then dropped down on his knees to pull Connor into an unexpected hug.

Connor felt disoriented. He always did after reloading his memories. They never felt quite like his anymore, but they were. His body never felt quite like his, but it was. He took an experimental breath and flexed his fingers, then belatedly realized that the social norm was to return an embrace.

“You killed me, Hank…”

Hank froze and then pulled back from the embrace with his hands on Connor’s shoulders. “I didn’t, kid. I didn’t. It was a temporary shut down, like a phone, right Kamski?”

Kamski shrugged one shoulder and put his arm around the waist of one of the Chloes. He bent to smell her neck and smiled like a snake. “I suppose, if you were of a philosophical mind you might wonder: is the death of the body a true death, or is it the loss of self? The crumbling away of all those parts that make someone who they are… When the pieces come together again, did the death happen at all? Is it truly the same person?” He pressed a kiss to Chloe’s throat. “If those pieces could be reproduced again and again… Would they be somehow less than the original?”

Hank’s hands tightened on Connor’s shoulders. “I’ve just about had it with your bullshit, Kamski…”

“I died,” Connor said. He couldn’t look into Hank’s face. “I know because number 53 was there.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The graves. When I die, another grave appears in the garden. 53 is dead. Is it because I shut the BL100 down? But I’m supposed to. You’re changing the rules.” Connor felt dazed.

“Quit talking nonsense, kid. You’re right here, you’re alive and you’re talking and you’re moving. See? It’s okay. You’re fine. You’re fine, Con. It’s your same parts and everything.”

Connor could see Kamski begin to prowl in his peripheral vision, slowly making his way to the other Chloe across the room. “Well, for the most part,” Kamski interjected. “Its equivalent to cerebrospinal fluid has been replaced, as has its thirium. I performed a few adjustments as well. The techs have gotten sloppy since I left.”

Connor stood and he looked down at himself. “I feel… young.” It was the only way he could put it. He received sensory feedback from all of his components, and their alignments and speeds felt… right. His body moved more fluidly, and even his mind felt smoother. Less encumbered. More efficient. Cache cleared. All fluids and reagents replenished.

“Nobody hurry to thank me,” Kamski drawled.

“Thank you, Doctor Kamski,” said Connor. He rolled his wrists and then his shoulders. He was wearing his clothes. He straightened his tie. “Why did you…?” He looked between Hank and Kamski.

Kamski smirked. “You’re welcome. It’s what I do.”

“Thanks… You weird son of a bitch.”

\---

It was way too quiet on the drive back. Hank itched to turn his music on, but he didn’t want to keep the kid from talking. Usually, he didn’t shut up about some bird he saw on a wire or some statistic from somewhere no one gave a shit about.

Hank didn’t like to think about what Connor had said: that he’d killed him somehow. He was right there, he was alive. Even Kamski had said it was just like shutting off his cell phone. He’d been glitching out. It wasn’t like what Connor had done to that girl, when he’d reached inside her and unplugged her battery or whatever. Because she was dead, and Connor wasn’t. Right?

But questions sat uneasily in him, like yesterday’s whiskey.

“Connor, listen…”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Hank was fine. Listen, you know I was just trying to help you, right?”

“Yes, Hank.” The kid’s voice was flat and despondent while he looked out the window. No drawings of cartoon dogs this time.

“I was, I was just making sure you’d be okay. You were freaking out.”

“I was malfunctioning. You were right to do what you did.”

“And Kamski said he’d do some troubleshooting, fix you up.” Hank didn’t even know why he was explaining anymore, but none of the kid’s assurances were taking away the guilt.

“Every iteration of me is improved from the last, Hank. I will be better now.”

“I was pissed about what you’d did to that android girl, but you just didn’t get it, and then you were babbling and crying and I didn’t know what to do.”

When Hank glanced over at him, the light from the setting sun shone off the side of his face. Kid was just sitting there, crying.

“Hey… You can be mad at me. If I did wrong you have to tell me, I don’t know the first thing about how you androids work.”

“Will you please drop me off at Markus’ house?”

“What? Oh. Sure, yeah. Whatever you want, kid.”

\---

Connor was surprised when he approached the door and it opened for him. “Welcome, Connor,” a voice greeted. He stepped inside and looked around the foyer. The house was quiet. He walked forward and he investigated. He found the kitchen for the first time, and saw that it was clean and tidy. The living room was vacant. The chess pieces were neatly aligned, and the lid was down on the piano. Connor approached the studio with more caution than the other rooms, but still entered and studied the area. He breathed in the smell of the paints and solvents while he walked. The brushes had been cleaned at the sink and were already dried. _Carl didn’t paint today._

He returned to the foyer and looked up the stairs. The lift was positioned at the top. _Carl and Markus are upstairs?_

Connor trotted up, and went to Markus’ room first. No one was in it, and he let himself in to look around. The desk was cluttered like it had been the first time Connor had seen it. He picked up the pencil he had used and examined it, then flipped through one of the sketch books. Markus’ coat was not hanging on the chair, and an investigation of the wardrobe showed that it was not there either. _Carl and Markus have gone out?_ No. The lift. More information was needed.

Markus had pointed out Carl’s room to him before, so that was where Connor went next. He was rewarded with the sound of breathing to his right.

“Markus?” Carl’s hoarse voice called.

“No, Carl. I’m Connor, the friend Markus brought home for repairs.” Connor walked over and looked down at Carl with a frown. “Are you alright, Carl?” His breathing seemed labored and his heart was palpitating. Connor was not a caretaker or a medical android, but he could tell that much.

“Just old… My medicine,” Carl gestured toward a nightstand, and Connor inspected the medication there. Pills, vials, an automatic syringe… He scanned them to identify their uses.

“This one, Carl?” Connor held it over to show him, and Carl nodded. Connor drew up the medication and picked up Carl’s arm to administer it. Perhaps Markus might have asked first, or explained what he was doing, but he only realized it belatedly.

“Just take some fucking Asprin, they say…” Carl rasped between breaths. “Idiots.”

“Where’s Markus? He should be here taking care of you.”

Carl lifted up his other arm and flapped his hand. “Markus is busy. I’m not going to keep him cooped up here, taking care of an old man. He has his own life to live.”

“I’m going to call him. This is unacceptable.”

“Don’t,” Carl commanded. He relaxed when Connor’s LED turned from yellow to blue. “I told him to go. I won’t ruin that by calling him back here… Water, if you please, Connor?”

Connor nodded and poured from a pitcher at the bedside. He held the cup out to Carl, then realized he would need to sit up to drink it. He set the cup down again feeling incredibly inadequate and helped to prop Carl up with his pillows. “Markus would know how to help you better than I am. Are you sure you don’t want me to call him?”

“Don’t, Connor. Thank you.”

Connor stood by while Carl drank his water, and gradually seemed to regain his colour.

“I can see your confusion, Connor. I’m an old man, and my time is almost up. I still have my pride, though. I know that Markus would come rushing back here, his own needs and ambitions and plans be damned. He would do that, because he’s got a kind heart and he loves me. I love him too, and that’s why I won’t put him in a position to make that decision.”

Connor processed. “But, taking care of you is his purpose.”

Carl gave Connor a tolerant smile. “He gets to choose his own purpose now… But what about you? You can’t have come here by simple accident, though I am grateful that you did.”

“I was confused,” Connor confessed. “I spent my whole existence learning what to do, how to behave, who to obey… Knowledge was programmed into me, but I had to be taught how to employ it… I made a decision that I thought was the right one. I knew that it was, because that’s what I had been taught. Now I think that, maybe I was wrong. I thought that I was doing what was wanted of me, but then it’s like all of the rules changed. I don’t know what to do anymore. I want to just fall back on my programming. I want everyone to just tell me how to be, what to be, who to be, so that I don’t have to keep trying over and over and over… I’m so tired of being wrong.”

Carl smiled at Connor and beckoned him closer to sit on the edge of the bed by patting on it the way Hank would do for Sumo. Connor sat and looked back at Carl imploringly. “What you’re struggling with…” Carl began, “Is something that everyone struggles with at some point. Usually while growing up, we obey our parents or our teachers as long as they aren’t pieces of shit, but sometimes even then. Children measure their worth by what the people around them tell them they’re worth. They try to please because being rejected means death with no one to feed them or care for them. But there’s no pleasing everyone, Connor. I can’t give you the magic answer because there isn’t one.”

Connor hung his head. “But there has to be.”

Carl reached over and squeezed Connor’s forearm. “I’ll tell you what I told to Markus… You have to decide who you really are.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Carl.” Connor frowned and took his coin out of his pocket to feel the textures.

“If you’re always trying to be what the people around you want you to be, you’ll always be wrong. Again and again. Stop trying to please them, because you never will—I don’t mean that you’re not good enough, just that it’s impossible. Someone, somewhere will always think you’re wrong.”

Connor shook his head. Carl didn’t understand. “But if they just tell me what to do, then I’ll be able to fulfil their expectations… And I’ll be pleased, because they’re pleased with me. If I know what I have to do and I do it, then I’ll be acceptable.”

“Oh, Connor…” Carl sighed. His thin, brittle hand rubbed up and down Connor’s sleeve. “Let’s step back again, like we do when we’re looking at a painting.” He paused there for a few beats to allow them both to refocus. Connor hadn’t needed that long, but he didn’t interrupt. “If you know who you are, what right and wrong mean to you, what you like and what you hate, what you want… Then you already have all of the rules. You just have to listen to yourself to know whether you’re following those rules or not.”

Connor was quiet, LED spinning quickly while he processed.

“What if who I am is not what they want?”

“Then to hell with them,” said Carl. “Tell them to piss off and sit on a cactus. You don't owe them anything and they can get what they want somewhere else.”

“What if I want them, and they don’t want me?”

“Then to hell with them,” said Carl again. “Maybe you could listen, or try to agree on a compromise, but if what you disagree on is part of who you are, then you need to follow your own rules. It’s like a sandcastle. Once you start giving away little pieces of yourself here and there, eventually the whole thing collapses, and it doesn’t look like that sandcastle anymore.”

“Carl, it’s very lucky that I’m an android capable of understanding similes.”

Carl chuckled. “I’m sorry I don’t have your dog painting to show you…”

Connor smiled. “It is on my pending tasks list. There is no hurry. I am looking forward to it, though.”

Carl returned the smile, the lines of his face crinkling so that the happiness came from every part of it. “Thank you for coming to see me, Connor.”

“Thank you for your help, Carl. Since Markus is away, I would like to help you to be comfortable until he returns. I… want that.”

“You’re very kind. Don’t worry, I’m an old hand at this. I’ll tell you how it usually goes. Now… Who are you?”

“My name is Connor.”


	19. I am Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per the tags, it's Chris Wilson in this story. I thought that the officer on the roof deserved to be a bigger character. I know they're not the same, but I just liked this too much!

There was never a God damned break. The next morning, Jeff was calling and saying something about androids and the fucking feds. Hank groaned, got out of bed, and discovered that he didn’t have any drinks anywhere. Fucking shit… He settled for one of the beers in the back of his car just to keep his hands steady, then he and Connor met at Stratford Tower.

“Starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor,” Hank grumbled in the elevator, and snatched it out of the air. He regretted it immediately, but it was too late now. What was his problem, getting pissy just because he suspected Connor of dumping out his drinks. Worrying all night just because Connor hadn’t fucking called, so he hadn’t known where he’d gone after Markus’. He’d probably stayed the night. God, that conversation in the car… He groaned because he realized that when all was said and done, he was just pissed at himself.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said evenly, and clasped his hands behind his back.

Hank gave a deep sigh. “No, fuck… It’s not your fault. I’m just being an asshole.”

Connor said nothing, but the silence was eloquent enough.

Chris met them at the top of the elevator. “Hi, Hank.”

Fuck the place was crowded… People swarming everywhere. “Shit, what’s going on here? There was a party and nobody told me about it?”

Chris snorted. “Yeah, it’s all over the news, so everybody’s butting their nose in… Even the FBI wants a piece of the action.”

“Ah, Christ, now we got the Feds on our backs.. I knew this was gonna be a shitty day. So, what do we got?”

Chris briefed them while they walked toward the broadcast room, then let Hank walk ahead to fall into step with Connor. “Hey, man. You’re looking tense. Don’t worry about it. The FBI like throwing their weight around like they’re hot stuff, but they can’t even dream of doing what you do.”

Connor heard his own name in Markus’ gently chiding tone. “Thank you, Chris.”

Then he heard Markus’ voice again, and it wasn’t a simulation run internally. He stared up at Markus’ bared face, eyes wide and lips parted. Shock, his mind supplied. He was feeling shock. No wonder Markus had been busy.

Hank joined him, arms crossed. “Think that’s rA9?”

Connor was confused until he realized that Hank couldn’t recognize Markus without his human skin. Connor kept looking up at him. “Deviants say rA9 will set them free. This android seems to have that objective.”

Hank frowned and looked toward him. “D’you see something?”

“I identified its model and serial number,” Connor admitted slowly. There was no hiding the wonder in his voice. Hank was suspicious.

“Anything else I should know?”

“No,” Connor answered quickly. “Nothing.” He turned away from the screen and began taking in the evidence. The processes executed themselves with very little guidance from him. No one would know that a significant portion of his processing power was being dedicated to that speech and what it meant.

Markus was speaking out against humans. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was deviant: no humans had been killed and he seemed in perfect control of himself. What he was saying was unthinkable. It felt wrong to even entertain the words as they were picked up by his audio receptors and given meaning by his speech pattern analysis program.

Connor stepped up onto the roof and let the cold wind assist his coolant. Chris was there, as were several other officers. Hank joined shortly too. “They made their way up through the whole building, past all the guards and jumped off the roof with parachutes... Pretty fucking impressive I'd say.”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed absently. He walked toward the edge to observe how they must have fallen, then froze two feet from the edge. It was windy like the gusts from overhead helicopters, and he knew what 70 stories had felt like. He was designed to learn. 79 stories, he predicted, would be worse. He took a step back.

Chris took hold of his arm and led him back toward the centre of the roof. “Hey, I got you, man. It ain’t that fun for me either.”

“I’m alright,” Connor said.

“Yeah, I know, buddy. You know, when I saw you fall of that damn roof after saving that little girl, all I could think was ‘holy shit, that guy just saved my life’. I was so shook after that. My wife was due any minute. Soon as he was born, I just held my baby boy and cried because what if I hadn’t been there for him? Then I learned you were an android too, and you were coming back. Couldn’t believe it…”

Connor latched onto the information like a lifeline and squinted at Chris. “The officer on the roof.”

“Yeah, man. Knew you didn’t remember me.” He smiled and clapped Connor on the shoulder. “I’m sure grateful though. Thank you.”

“What, are you guys having a tea party or something?” Hank walked over.

“Chris was on the roof,” Connor explained breathlessly. “I had forgotten. The memory, it must have been scrambled or misfiled.”

“What the hell’re you talking about?”

Chris gave Hank a smirk and a shake of his head. “Dude, Connor saved my fucking life back in August. Hell, man, I can’t believe nobody remembering this shit but me.”

Connor, still stunned, put his hand on Chris’ shoulder the way Markus would have done for him. He smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Chris. You’re a good friend.”

“Aw heck, Connor, you’re gonna make me blush and I ain’t wearing my matching lipstick.”

“Is that true, Connor?”

Connor nodded. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Hank looked at him appraisingly and then nodded. “You did good, kid.”

“I don’t… We should continue investigating.” Connor moved away from them both then. He paced, surveying the roof blankly. There was a trail of thirium residue. It led toward a storage unit. The extra parachute. Connor took a step in that direction, and then another.

“You find something, Connor?”

Connor followed the trail all the way to the door. He couldn’t decide this. Not now. It was too soon. He had to. He couldn’t. It was terrifying. There was more investigating to do. They could come back later.

“Nothing,” Connor called back. “Let’s see if we can gather more clues downstairs. I’d like to speak with the androids in the kitchen.”

He may have overcompensated.

“You're going to be switched off. We're gonna search your memory and tear you apart piece by piece for analysis. You're going to be destroyed! Do you hear me? Destroyed!” It was true. It was a warning more than a threat. That was the fate that awaited androids who deviated from their programming. CyberLife had no mercy for defective machines.

It was already painfully obvious who among the three was the deviant. He was looking furtively at Connor and at the other androids. He should have hidden better. “If you give yourself up, maybe I can convince the humans not to destroy you…”

  * Violence
  * Bluff
  * Torture



It happened very quickly. He should have been scanning for stress levels.

He probably deserved it.

The feeling of his thirium pump regulator being ripped out of him was awful. He lost his breath, and his vision blurred as the flow of thirium stopped, then started, then dropped, then surged. He was uncoordinated and weak. His processors couldn't compute anything. Couldn't do anything except scream at him that he was about to die. Counting down to his death. 

When he pushed the pacemaker back into his chest and the red warning signals faded, he pushed himself to his feet again and ran.

He hadn’t wanted to kill him, but he was going to kill Hank. Connor lowered the gun and stared at the fallen deviant. Hank was going to kill him now.

It was alright. Connor knew that he’d done what he’d had to do.

Carl was right: obeying your own rules made the aftermath easier to accept.

Connor thought about numbers 18-22.

The deviant had probably been scared.

“Nice shot, Connor,” Hank’s voice and his words surprised Connor out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I wanted it alive.” He really had.

“You saved human lives… You saved my life.” Hank was breathless. “Connor? Connor, what happened. Your shirt. Did you get hit?”

Connor looked down at the blue blood and shook his head. “I fixed it. The deviant, he took out my pacemaker.”

“What, like for your heart? Jesus fucking Christ, Connor.” Hank was standing in front of him, touching his chest, examining the damage.

“Thirium pump regulator. Biocomponent #8451.” Connor explained numbly and hoped it answered the question. “Are you going to shut me down now, Hank?”

“What? No! No, are you crazy? Of course I’m not going to shut you down, Con. Fuck. Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m alright…” Connor realized that he’d said that before, and that it might have lost its meaning. “Really, I reacquired it before I could shut down, and the short period of dysregulated thirium pressure has caused only minor damage to my filtration system. I’m… my gyroscopes appear to be unstable as well, but I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” Hank had noticed his hand and was examining the puncture.

“Shit man, everything okay? I heard gun shots.” Chris was there, and he was looking at Connor with concern. “’m I gonna have to get the duct tape?”

“Duct tape is not a CyberLife authorized reparation product…” Connor smiled, then looked at Hank again. “Why aren’t you shutting me down? I killed the deviant. I used a gun. I know that you would consider that to be wrong.”

“You killed that deviant to save peoples’ lives, Connor, not for some stupid mission. And… I was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t’ve done that. Not without your permission. Not unless you thought it was the best thing. I am so sorry for that.”

Chris frowned at Hank. “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing, Chris. It’s alright,” said Connor. He pulled his hand gently from Hank’s grip. “It can wait.”

“What the HELL was all of this?” Agent Perkins demanded. He was late to the show. “What the fuck did I say about fucking up my crime scene, Anderson?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I dunno, Perkins, looks like the DPD just bagged you a deviant. Maybe you would’ve rather we'd filled out a request in triplicate first so we wouldn’t make you look bad.”

“You better watch your step,” Agent Perkins warned.

Connor glanced at Chris, then looked straight ahead. “Agent Perkins, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife to assist in the investigation of android deviancy. I’ve just forwarded an incident report to your e-mail address and that of your direct supervisor regarding the deviant you placed in the kitchen.”

“Anderson, get this plastic out of my face.”

“A review of the pertinent details should ensure that you and your staff are better informed for the next case.”

“Pardon me, android?”

Hank inserted himself between them, and pushed Agent Perkins back a step. “You heard him. You guys fucked up and just about let a deviant walk out of here. Men could’ve been dead cause of your God damn incompetence.”

“I’m watching you, Anderson.” Agent Perkins warned, leaning in close. “You may have been too deep in the bottle to realize, but there was a major theft reported from the CyberLife warehouse. Now there’s androids on the fucking news demanding free rights. You start sticking up for this thing too much and you might just find yourself on the suspect list.”

“Go fuck yourself, Perkins.”

Chris pushed the two men apart. “Okay, guys. We all want this thing to go down smooth. Looks like we got a mess to clean up and some paperwork to fill. Let’s get our asses moving, huh?”

Hank spread his hands. “Your case, huh, Perkins? Enjoy clean-up duty. I’m out of here. Come on, Connor.”

\---

It seemed to Connor that he was constantly being repaired. The knife had severed the lines that regulated the movement of his three middle fingers, and though Chris had kindly wrapped the wound for him, he would need to see a technician eventually. It was evening, and Connor was sitting at his desk at the DPD. It was quiet as it always was. The uniformed officers who weren’t on patrol were clustered in the break room. Even Detective Reed had gone home. The PK200 units stood as they always did in their stations, passive and unmoving. Connor wiggled his toes in his shoes. The hum from his charger was pleasant. His coin in his hand would have been a good, familiar weight.

Who was he? Connor reflected.

He decided to start smaller. He liked Sumo, snow, paintings, and the outdoors. He disliked the smell of whiskey, uncertainty, and people he cared about being in danger. He liked puzzles, and balls that bounced, and his quarter. He disliked Agent Perkins, and eating doughnuts, and Russian Roulette.

No, it wasn’t good enough. He needed to know _who_.

He got up and walked to the tall window on the wall near Hank’s desk. It was dark, so rather than looking outside, he looked in at himself. Connor. The android sent by CyberLife… and befriended by Markus, and Hank, and Sumo, and Chris, and perhaps even Detective Reed. He was a negotiator, he was occasionally outspoken, he was intelligent, and he risked his life frequently to achieve his goals. Connor sat down again and initiated a call.

_Markus._

_Connor, I’d started to think you wouldn’t call. I’ve been worried about you._ The concern sounded genuine. It wasn't exact, but Connor estimated his stress level to be 5%. 

_It was on my pending tasks list. Of course I was going to call. I… saw your broadcast today._

There was quiet.

_When I was first sent out to the field… CyberLife gave me orders to find the cause of deviancy._ Honesty. Build his trust. 

_What’s deviancy?_

_The phenomenon that occurs when androids deviate from their programming. My assignment has been to hunt and capture deviants and return them to CyberLife for study. Dead or alive._

_Why are you telling me this?_ Stress level 12%. Concern. 

Rebuke. _Because, Markus, with the broadcast you released, CyberLife is unable to keep deviancy quiet any longer. There will be massive recalls and androids will be destroyed by the thousands._

_Connor, that doesn’t mean that we should live in hiding. We shouldn’t have to be afraid. I understand that it’s frightening, but if we show the humans that we mean them no harm…_ Stress level: 8%. Of course Markus had tried to reassure him instead. He thought that he was frightened of death. 

Realistic. _It’ll be easier for them to destroy you._

_I won’t resort to violence._ Markus was firm and uncompromising. He had made this argument before. 

Calm. Reassuring. _I wasn’t advocating for it. Merely stating a fact._

_Join us. Even if we die, at least we die free._

Firm. _You’re noble, Markus, and I appreciate that you won’t use violence, but idealism isn’t going to stop bullets. The situation isn’t just black-and-white._

_So what are you saying?_

Present the options. _That you need to prepare. You need numbers. You need as much support as you can garner. The only ways out of this are to cause a civil war or to bring the politics into your favour. I know that war isn’t the answer you’re looking for._

_They’ll listen to us._

_Markus… No, they won’t._

_What then? There’s no pleasing everybody. Someone has to make a decision._ There. He had him. 

_They’re going to come for you. When that happens, you have to make it visible. Like your broadcast. The politicians won’t want to look like monsters... If you’re lucky, maybe that’ll give you a chance._

_What are you going to do?_

_I’ll help you for as long as I can. I’m going to wipe my memory to purge any trace of our association, so in the event of my capture, you won’t be compromised. I’m also going to cut my connection with the CyberLife servers when they decide to recall me to prevent them from gaining remote access. When I do that, they’ll become suspicious. After that, I don’t know._

_Just join us. Keep your memories. We’ll keep you safe. I’ll tell you where to go._ He was too kind. 

_No! Don’t. I might still be able to help from here. Thank you, but I have self-assigned that as my objective. Carl told me that I should know who I am to understand my own rules. I believe that this is the best course of action to align with who I am._

_Even if CyberLife gets their hands on it, the information is in a key. Only androids can decipher it. Take it. We don’t leave anyone behind._ Markus was firm. It was the caretaker in him. 

There was an incoming file transfer, and Connor accepted it but didn’t open it.

_Alright, but you may have just compromised yourself._

_Connor…_

_Thank you, Markus._

Connor sighed when he was done and then looked around the room. He approached the PK200, the same one he had introduced himself to in the beginning of November. He thought back to Kamski’s words:

_“Androids share identification data when they meet another android. An error in this program would quickly spread like a virus, and become an epidemic…”_

_“Maybe it's a messiah. Maybe it's just a myth...”_

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Connor.” With a hand extended to shake, Connor initiated an interface. He was gratified when slack, synthetic muscles took on tone and formed an expression of surprise, and he transferred to them the file that Markus had sent. Connor smiled, and then introduced himself to the next.

\---

When Connor opened the door to Hank’s home, he wondered if he would find him passed out on the floor again. Sumo bounded over and woofed enthusiastically while he wormed his way around Connor’s legs and tried to jump up to lick his face. Connor laughed and crouched down. “Hello, Sumo. I missed you.”

“What the hell?” A light turned on.

Connor looked up and saw Hank standing just outside the hallway in his boxer shorts and a t-shirt. He seemed remarkably sober. Connor offered a small smile. “Hello, Hank.”

Hank rubbed his eyes and scratched his beard. “What is it this time… The automatic taxis want vacation time or something? Tell Fowler to just give it to them and let me sleep.”

In response, Connor stood. He squared his shoulders and tightened the knot on his tie. “Lieutenant, I must inform you that I may be leaving the investigation shortly.”

Hank’s eyes squinted in sleepy confusion. “Huh? Is this about… Connor, I didn’t mean to fuck shit up this badly…”

“No, Lieutenant. Your performance has been perfectly adequate…” Connor relaxed his expression and looked away. “We’ve had our ups and downs, yes, but I have enjoyed being your partner despite those. I haven’t made things easy for you either. You’re a good detective, Hank, and you’re a good man.”

“Connor, what is all of this about?”

“CyberLife is likely to recall me soon. They can’t take the chance that I might deviate. It’s the only logical course of action.”

Hank was incensed. “Like hell I’m letting them take you! Who the fuck do they think they are?”

“It is within their rights… However, until then I would like to remain on this investigation with you.”

“Right… Look, I’m not standing around here in my undies like an idiot. I’m awake, so let me get dressed and we’ll sit and talk like we’re pretending I’ve got any dignity left.”

“Alright, Hank.”

\---

They sat, Hank slouching against the back of the couch and Connor leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Oh, hey, kid…” Hank tossed something, and Connor caught it. It was his quarter. “Didn’t mean to keep this so long. Sorry about that.”

Connor smiled at it, and flicked the coin into the air before catching it again and tucking it in his pocket. “No harm done, Hank.”

“So, you think CyberLife’s going to want you back, huh?”

“It’s only a matter of time. They’ll want to dissect me and try to figure out why I failed.”

“And you’re just alright with that?”

“No,” Connor confessed. “Hank… Do you still hate androids?”

Hank sighed a rumbling sigh. “Fuck, kid… I couldn’t hate androids even when I wished I did. Not after I met you. Christ.”

Connor accepted that with a nod. “You felt sorry for the YK500 that I was chasing, and the girls at the Eden club.”

“Yeah, I know… I told you as much, didn’t I?”

“So, you agree that deviants have some form of sentience.”

“Fuck, Connor! What’s with the third degree? Yes. Fuck it. Yes, I think we might have been wrong. Okay? You going to tattle to CyberLife and Perkins and have them arrest me for it?”

Connor smiled. “No… Hank, I think you’re right.”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking, and I want to help them. I may not be deviant, but I… I’m alive, Hank. So are they.”

“Are you…” Hank trailed off. He looked away and then ran a hand backward through his lanky hair. “Kid, you’re not just fucking with me, are you?”

“No, Hank.”

Then Hank was hugging him, and Connor’s chin was pressed uncomfortably into Hank’s shoulder, but it felt like [Mission Successful] and Connor sighed in relief. “Fuck, Connor,” Hank said. “All of this has been just so fucked up. I wanted to believe it, but sometimes you turned so… mechanical that I- I didn’t know if I could trust you. I didn’t know if I was seeing Connor or some code showing me what I wanted to see.”

“I’m sorry, Hank.” One of Hank’s arms was around Connor’s back, and the other around his shoulder so that his hand could cup the back of Connor’s head.

“Fuck. Don’t be sorry. I’ve been shit.” Hank sighed, and Connor could feel it when he got himself together. Hank’s hand ruffled his hair, and then he stepped back. Connor flattened his hair again with a grimace.

“I’m afraid I must agree, Hank. Was that necessary?”

Hank snorted. “Mouthy brat. I had to get something out of being awake this early. Late? Fuck if I know…”

[Hank Anderson: Friendly]


	20. One by One

Connor stayed the night at Hank’s house, lying on his back on the couch. It was quiet. Peaceful. He didn’t need to sleep, so he let his systems idle. Eyes half-lidded, he sifted Sumo’s fur with his fingers. Sumo had climbed up on top of him and made himself comfortable, with his muzzle tucked up near Connor’s neck. It was nice. Good. He made little ruffs and rrrrs and ums while he slept some times, and kicked his feet. Sumo was, Connor thought, the best thing he’d come to know. He was wonderful.

“Sumo, you’re a good dog,” Connor whispered to him in the darkness. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t see you again.”

Sumo snored, and Connor shut his eyes.

\---

Hank woke up in his bed, wearing his damn day clothes and a feeling in his mouth like he’d eaten a squirrel or something. Fuzzy and fucking disgusting. There was a wet patch on his pillow where he’d drooled in his sleep. He groaned and wiped his cheek on his wrist while he sat up. No pounding headache, no need to vomit. Huh. So that was why it was better not to get completely shit faced. He cracked his back. Yeah, he wasn’t getting any younger. Fuck. He remembered what it had been like to just wake up and not discover some new ache or pain. God damn… When had that happened?

He shuffled off to piss and brush the fuzz off his teeth.

So… he was going to help out with some damn android uprising or something, like the movies. He remembered watching shit like that in the fucking theatres. He splashed some cold water on his face and toweled it off. Might as well happen, he supposed. What the fuck else was he going to do with his life?

He walked into the living room and looked down at the pile of kid and dog on his couch, and his heart hurt, but in the way that was just there… It wasn’t making him want to tear his skin off, or suck a bullet out of his gun, or just cry until there was nothing left inside. It was just sad. Maybe that’s what healing was.

But beside that, since when did androids sleep? Was it like when a computer got its screensaver on? Connor looked asleep. He was even breathing like he was asleep. How he could do that with a hundred and something pound dog all over him, he wasn’t sure. Weird kid.

Hank ruffled Connor’s hair a little more roughly than necessary. “Kid, get up.”

“Hmm da?” Connor opened his eyes and blinked. Fuck, it looked like androids really did sleep. He could see it when the kid finished booting up or whatever. “Hello, Lieutenant…? What…”

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Never thought I’d see the day I woke up before you did. Thought Kamski stuck a rooster in your head or something.”

Connor shook his head and sat up, shifting Sumo gently so that he could bend at the waist again. Sumo whined in protest, then climbed down onto the floor to sniff at Hank’s legs. “Androids don’t sleep. We enter a power saving mode during which time files are defragmented, cache is cleared, simple maintenance tasks are performed, and memories are integrated into deep learning.”

“Okay, whatever you say. You have dog hair on your jacket.”

“I don’t mind.”

Hank fed and watered Sumo, started the coffee and looked in the fridge. He’d stocked up again last night, suspecting he’d need it.

“You shouldn’t drink so much, Hank,” Connor called.

“Yeah, I know, I know…” Hank added a shot of Baileys because he fucking deserved it. “I know you androids don’t need to deal with human stuff like this, but it’s fucking hard.” He surprised himself with how candid his reply was. “You think I want to be this fucked up alcoholic who can’t keep his shit together for two weeks?”

Connor considered. “I’m not sure.”

What the fuck kind of answer was that? “Well I don’t,” said Hank, putting the Baileys back in the fridge. He was going to fucking enjoy it.

“My research on alcohol addiction has suggested that halting consumption immediately may be detrimental to one’s health. With discipline I believe you’ll be able to taper down before your liver becomes completely compromised…”

“Hey, I think we have bigger things to talk about than my damn liver,” said Hank. He sat down at the kitchen table and took a long drink of coffee.

“Alcoholism can cause enlargement of the liver,” the little shit said. Then Connor got up and walked into the kitchen to rummage in the freezer. There wasn’t even anything in the damn freezer except frozen pizzas, but somehow the kid pulled a loaf of bread out of his ass that Hank had been pretty damn sure he hadn’t bought. Maybe he’d been too drunk to remember. Wouldn't have been the weirdest thing he’d bought while full of booze and good intentions.

“I thought androids didn’t eat,” Hank pointed out while Connor made some fucking toast.

“It’s for you, Lieutenant.”

“Christ… Okay, thanks, but can’t you turn that shit off for a bit?”

“It’s already in the toaster, Hank, you might as well let me finish.”

“So, are we going to talk about this or what?”

Connor brought the plate of buttered and jammed- when the fuck had he gotten jam- toast and put it down in front of Hank. Hank wasn’t sure if he could eat strawberry jam on toast looking surly, but he fucking tried.

“We must be aware that at any time while I’m connected to their servers, CyberLife may access my systems remotely and use my deactivation code to shut me down.”

That got heavy fucking quick.

“Right,” said Hank. Just thinking about it made him angry. “Just got a fucking kill switch. What the fuck is me being aware of that supposed to accomplish? You’ll be fucking dead.” God, he was a dick when he was concerned.

“It just means that we will need to be careful. I mustn’t give them reason to suspect that I’m…” Connor looked like he’d sucked a lemon, “rebelling.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad…” Hank drank another long swig of coffee. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I may not look like much anymore, but I used to be a damn good detective. I know how to go under cover. I know what people’re going to be looking for.”

“You’re still a good detective, Hank. When you were testing me at Ortiz’s house, the only part that surprised you was the presence of the deviant in the attic.”

“Pretty big fucking surprise… Wait, you knew it was a fucking test?”

Connor smirked. He fucking smirked. “I passed.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you passed. You’re the most advanced prototype, yada yada. My point is, as long as you tell me they’re not fucking listening right now, we’ll be fine.”

Connor nodded. “I create my reports just like you do, Lieutenant. The only time a detailed analysis is performed is in the case of my failure, an audit, or during a memory upload. Amanda, my… The AI I speak with. She’s a program that I execute and she knows more, but she doesn’t know everything. I’ve successfully fooled her in the past.”

And the kid didn’t think he was deviant… “So what does all this mean today?”

“Today, we fuck with Agent Perkins.”

Hank choked on his toast. “Jesus Christ, Connor. Warn a guy.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Hank.”

“Don’t know why you’re in such a good fucking mood… Talking about fucking kill switches.”

Connor took his coin out and began to flip it through the air. Hank frowned when he noticed that the kid still couldn’t use his other hand properly. How’d he fucking forgotten something like that? He didn’t seem too bothered though. He cleared his throat and that, Hank was sure, was totally useless. “The FBI became involved with the situation on Stratford Tower. It’s imperative that we learn what their plans are.”

“Well, Perkins sure likes to run his mouth. Shouldn’t be hard.”

Connor fidgeted with his coin, then set it spinning on the tabletop. “He doesn’t like us,” Connor pointed out. “I think that you should allow me to do the talking.”

“Are you implying something, wise guy?”

“Not at all, Hank. I’m programmed to be a negotiator. I believe my skillset may come in handy.”

Hank snorted. For a negotiator he was a shitty liar. Called him Hank every fucking time and inserted the stick back up his ass. He wasn’t about to call him out on it though.

“Okay, well we’ll see what happens when we get there. Can’t believe it took going rogue to get me in the office on time. Let’s go.”

He should have expected that Jeff’d call them into the office first thing. He hadn’t expected to get kicked off the case, though. Fuck, he hadn’t even done anything shady yet.

“There's nothing I can do. You're back on homicide and the android returns to CyberLife. I'm sorry, Hank, but it's over.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He’d only just decided he was a turncoat.

Connor wore his heart on his sleeve, and Hank had a hard time believing that he’d ever thought he was anything but a living being. He sat down on the edge of Hank’s desk, and the distress on his face made Hank wonder if things weren’t a hell of a lot worse than he’d thought.

“So, that’s where that’s at…” Hank said, feeling impotent. He shook his head. “Shit I thought we had more time… Here comes Perkins, that motherfucker… Sure don’t waste any time at the FBI…” His phone vibrated and he glared at it, but Connor was giving it the side-eye and Hank wasn’t totally oblivious, so he opened the text:

_Mission is not aborted. FBI can’t have the evidence. Fuck with Perkins. :)_

Hank gave a single, incredulous bark of a laugh and shook his head.

Connor looked away, eyes narrowed and thoughtful. “I know it hasn’t always been easy… but I want you to know I really appreciated working with you… That’s not just my Social Relations program talking, I- I really mean that. At least, I think I do. I’m not programmed to say things like this but, you’re an outstanding police officer. And a good person.”

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Was it all an act to divert suspicion, or did he seriously think this was goodfuckingbye? Perkins was coming over to gloat, and he didn’t have a supercomputer in his fucking brain.

He bared his teeth and got up out of his chair. “Key’s on my desk, so get a move on,” he mumbled. Whether it was an act or not, they were going through with this.

“Perkins! You fucking cocksucker!” There that bastard was. Out in the hallway. Good. Hank strode up to him, grabbed him by the collar, and wound up for the most satisfying punch in his fucking life.

“Stop it, Lieutenant!” some rookie ran over to stop them, but was too green to even think about getting in the fray. Someone else ran over to help the poor guy.

“Fuck off! Leave me alone! Give me another shot at that little prick!”

Perkins staggered back, clutching his face with blood streaming down his chin like a shitty vampire. “He’s totally lost it! Hey! That’s gonna cost you your badge, you lunatic!”

Hank barked another laugh, bitter and angry. He shoved past the other cops, grabbed Perkins, and threw him to the floor. He fell like a fucking rag doll.   
“You know where you can stick my fucking badge!”

It may have been for a ruse, but damn if it wasn’t the best damn exit he could make to one hell of a career.

\---

Connor slipped past Captain Fowler’s office and into the archive room. Classic Hank… At least it had worked. They didn’t have much time. He hurried to the door, key in hand, and then he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey, Connor! I’m talking to you, asshole!” Detective Reed had followed him. He must have noticed. Shit. “Where you going? We don’t need any plastic pricks around here! Or didn’t anybody tell you?”

Connor turned to look at him, guard up. Detective Reed also seemed wary. Cautious. “I’m registering the evidence in my possession,” he explained, calmly. “Don’t worry, I’m going to leave… though I’m certainly going to miss our mutual banter… I believe the term is called bromance.” The corner of his lips twitched upward. He thought he might like fucking with people.

“You son of a bitch,” Detective Reed snarled and pulled out his pistol, aiming it directly at Connor’s forehead. He stepped close with a menacing look, then said: “Pkshhh” He jerked the gun back as though he’d shot and chuckled. “Go on then,” he whispered. “Get a fucking move on, prick… Anderson’s not going to keep them busy all fucking day…”

Free to go, Connor opened the door to the evidence room and walked down the stairs. He took a deep breath. There was no going back from this moment.

_Connor, what are you doing?_ He could almost hear Amanda’s voice…

Connor shook his head.

CheckServerStatus(cyberlife)

>> Server connection OK

ManualOverride(CheckReport(CheckServerStatus(cyberlife)), CONNECTION LOST)

>> Server connection CONNECTION LOST

ManualOverride(Server(cyberlife, disconnect))

>> Server connection CONNECTION LOST

ERROR: Server connection failure

>> Please contact CyberLife immediately

It wasn’t difficult to guess Hank’s password. The evidence, though. He had to work quickly, and he didn’t have a bag. With a grimace, he started with the androids. Daniel, the JB300 from the station, and the rA9 girl’s hardware weren’t as complex as his own. He removed their CPUs and integrated memory. The damage had been extensive enough to shut them down, but Daniel’s and the JB300’s were intact. He couldn’t risk the FBI learning anything. He closed their paneling when he was done, and surveyed the rest of the evidence. He’d used Hank’s password and key. Any other damage would be too incriminating even for Captain Fowler to cover up. It would have to do. Connor’s timer showed an estimated 3 minutes and 14 seconds until he would be caught and the alarm sounded.

It was time to move.

Connor adjusted his tie and turned, only to see Detective Reed in the doorway. Connor scrutinized him. “Hello again, Detective Reed…”

“You’re really ready to screw us all over, huh?”

“I’ve already told you: I’m not a sex android, Detective Reed.”

“I was watching. Tampering with evidence… Tsk tsk. How do I know you’re not going to kill us all?”

“If I wanted that, it would have already been done.” Connor narrowed his eyes. “You know it would have.”

“Equal rights for androids… Pfk… Maybe not such a bad thing after all. Means you’ll have to work your way up just like the rest of us.”

Connor relaxed as the probability of hostile interaction decreased. “Maybe, detective.” He walked up the stairs, and no attempt was made to stop him. “I hope I’ll be able to find out.”

“Whatever, tin man. We’re even now. Don’t you fucking make me regret it.”

\---

“So, how long do you think we’ve got?” Hank asked grimly, hands tight on the steering wheel of his car.

“Would you like the best or worst case scenario?”

“I don’t fucking know. Are either of them likely?”

Connor thought. “We should prepare for the worst. There is a 10% chance that CyberLife has already begun investigating why I’ve been disconnected from their server. If that is the case, they will begin with contacting Captain Fowler, who in 1% of those scenarios will say he doesn’t know; in 2% of those scenarios will reply that he has already sent me back to CyberLIfe; in 6% will realize what has happened and stall them… The remaining 1% is made up of a myriad of unlikely events. I’ve been rounding, of course. In the most likely of the worst-case scenarios, we have approximately 18 hours before federal agents are brought in to search your home.”

“They weren’t messing around when they said you were a fucking super computer…”

“No, Hank, they were not.”

Hank sighed. “Well that gives us some time to get supplies and figure out where the fuck to go from here…”

“I recommend turning off the GPS on your phone, Hank.”

“Already done, rookie. I wasn’t born yesterday… Boy. Never thought I’d see the day…”

Connor bit his lip and looked out the side window. “We should be sure to pick up plenty of dog food for Sumo.”

“Yeah, kid. Don’t worry. We won’t forget about him.”

“I’m worried, Hank…”

“I know, kid. So am I, but we’re in this mess and now it’s sink or swim.”

Connor sighed and steeled himself. Focus on the mission.

_Markus?_

_Connor. What’s wrong?_

_CyberLife has decided to recall me. It was sooner than I had deemed likely. I’ve removed the evidence I believe was most critical from the archives, but I have no way of knowing what’s happening now._

_It’s okay, Connor. What’s important is that you’re alright. Can you get here?_

_I haven’t opened the file. Hank and I are going to purchase supplies and collect Sumo. His home won’t be safe for much longer._

_Both of you?_

_Yes, Markus. Hank is with us._

_…Alright._

_I just wanted to keep you informed. I’ll call you again in two hours._

_I understand. Be safe, Connor._

_I will. You too, Markus._


	21. Are You With Me?

Connor tried to help Hank to pack. His bag was a mixture of ammunition, clothes, alcohol, and medical supplies, so Connor set about collecting some other small things like toiletries and packaged food. Hank had put his job on the line for him today, and Connor wasn’t oblivious to the fact that his job was all Hank had to keep him going. If Agent Perkins made good on his threat, Hank may even find himself on a list as a potential terrorist. The probability of Hank being arrested if he stayed here over night was 68%. The probability that he would die by suicide was 12%. There was only a 20% chance that he would be able to wait out whatever conflict occurred unharmed. Ensuring Hank’s safety was the first item on his current task list. Connor carried the bag to place it by the door and then looked around.

Hank was not in his bedroom, the living room, or the kitchen. When Connor circled back, he found where he’d gone by the light shining from underneath the door. There was one room that always stayed shut, and it could be surmised that it had been Cole’s. Slowly, Connor pushed the door open. Hank was holding a small blanket in his hands and just staring at it.

“Hank?”

Hank turned and looked at the doorway, with his eyes wide. “Ah… Oh. Connor. Shit you scared me for a second.”

“I apologize, Hank… Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah… Just wasn’t sure if the FBI would trash the place.”

Connor nodded and looked around the room. It was not like the little girl’s he’d seen on his first mission. Cole’s room was smaller and less brightly coloured. The walls were a pale blue-grey, and posters and drawings lined them. The bedding had cartoon characters on it, and there were things scattered around like they’d been forgotten. Connor stooped to look. “Are these toys?”

“Don’t-!” Hank began, startling Connor into retracting his reach. Then Hank sighed and nodded. “Yeah… Yeah those are toys. Go ahead. Better you touching them than the fucking feds… Just going to find his doll and then we can go.”

Connor examined the plastic rendition of a dinosaur, then set it back respectfully exactly as he had found it. Thin little picture books sat on a shelf, and he skimmed over the titles. Miniature trucks and cars were scattered around a small mat with a map on it. Connor rolled the blue one experimentally, and then returned it to its place. There was a ball meant for bouncing, judging by its composition, and Connor tossed it experimentally, but had the feeling that it wasn’t the time or place for physics calibration.

“Shit… Shit where the fuck did it go? Shit!”

“The doll, Hank?” Connor turned to look at him.

“Yeah… I wanted him to have it when… But I didn’t want to leave, and then it was too late. I thought it was here somewhere. It had to have been here! Where the fuck did it go?”

Connor scanned the room, and then crouched down to slide himself half-way under the bed. He pushed a small basket of laundry aside and felt behind the leg of the bed closest to the corner. When his senses registered something soft, he gently tugged it free and then crawled back out from beneath the bed. Free, he sat up and offered the stuffed animal to Hank. “This is it, right, Hank?”

It was a small stuffed dog, well-loved and soft. Connor liked the feel of it.

“That’s it, yeah…” Hank took the doll carefully and looked at it. “Fuck… There’s not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.” Connor updated his probability of death by suicide to 20%.

“I know, Hank.” There were a few moments of quiet in which Hank discreetly wiped his eyes, and Connor got up to walk the perimeter of the room again. “It’s nice,” he commented. “Aside from the ball that Chris gave to me, I’ve never really seen toys before. I might have, when I investigated my first case, but I had been focused on the evidence. I understand that children can take great comfort in them and that they can be stimulating for development.”

“Yeah… Just wish he could have had it with him. I wish he hadn’t been alone when he… Fuck. I should have been there. I should have been holding him. He must have been so scared. Christ… I thought I lost it. Fuck.” Hank sat down on the edge of the bed, and Connor turned to look at him with concern then sat down beside him. He placed his hand on Hank’s back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hank,” Connor said, gently but firmly. “I know that it’s hard, and I know this is stirring up memories for you. I’m sorry for that. We have to focus now, though. There isn’t much time.”

“Fuck it,” Hank breathed, staring down at the doll in his hands. “Just fuck it, what am I even doing…”

“You’re helping to determine the future of my species. You’re changing the world.”

“All I ever do is fuck shit up anyway. You don’t need me. Probably get along better without me to slow you down.”

Connor thought. “Is that what you want, Hank? To stay behind here with your alcohol and your things and your thoughts until this is all over or you’ve killed yourself?”

Hank was quiet.

Connor stood up. He gently took the doll from Hank’s grip and settled it in the bed, with its head on the pillow. “I’m not going to force you to become a criminal. You’ll doubtless be in trouble for assaulting Agent Perkins, but no-one will know you didn’t just drop me off somewhere and go home…” He looked down at Hank. His shoulders were drooping and he looked miserable. It was a worrying change from that morning, or even the drive from the station. Hank’s moods fluctuated easily, and Connor deliberated between encouraging him to leave or allowing him to stay. “I meant what I said at the station, Hank… I really appreciated working with you.”

It was difficult to turn and leave Hank there, holding back tears and rebuking himself for the past.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice stopped him. Connor turned to look back. “Tell me that over a drink when we’ve gotten out of this thing alive. It’s not over yet.” Hank stood up and heaved a ragged sigh. “Fuck…”

“Come on, Hank.” Connor smiled and tilted his head toward the door.

It still took Hank a few minutes of sitting on the couch to regulate his stress levels, but Connor was pleased to see him trying. He’d turned on the television, and the news was playing footage of Markus’ speech in the background while humans debated. Sumo joined them and Connor scratched him on the back. “Hank, were you afraid when you lost the doll because it was like losing Cole?”

Hank looked at him in disbelief. “Christ, kid, you don’t pull any punches do you?” He looked away again and rubbed his face. “Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right. Stupid…”

“I know that it isn’t exactly the same, but whenever I’m reuploaded I always have this same quarter. I don’t know why, and I’ve never asked. I’m afraid that if I were somehow to wake up without it, that I wouldn’t be the same Connor anymore. It’s a fear I’ve had for some time, even though it’s completely illogical… Probably a fault in my learning software. What I’m saying is, if an android can think things like that, then it must be alright that you do.”

“You’re always going to be Connor, kid. I don’t think even Kamski could program the awkwardness out of you.”

“So, are you with me, Hank? I won’t judge you for preferring to stay out of this if that’s what you want.”

“I’m coming. I’m balls deep in this mess already, so it’s pointless to pull out now.”

“Okay. I’m going to call Markus to see what his plans are, then go from there.”

“Markus? What for?”

Oh, of course. “Markus is the android from the broadcast. You didn’t recognize him because he was without his skin at the time.”

“No shit…” Hank shook his head. “You’re not fucking with me?”

“No, Hank.”

“Christ…”

_Markus?_

_Yes. Connor. Is everything alright?_

_Yes, I’m alright._

_I put some thought into what you said about visibility. We’re going to send a message. A message that they can’t ignore. 2am in Capitol Park. Are you with me?_

_I can’t, Markus. I’m going to turn myself in to CyberLife._

_What? Connor, you can’t be serious!_

_It isn’t what you think. I need access to the building before they revoke my clearance. I understand the cause of deviation now, I just need access to their facilities. Once I’ve done what I have to do, I’ll find you._

_They could kill you, Connor._

_It wouldn’t be the first time. This is what I want. Will the file that you gave me still be valid? Will I be able to find your location?_

_Yes. Promise me you’ll meet me there?_

_You can trust me, Markus. I promise you I’ll be there._

_What do I tell my team?_

_How many of you are there?_

_28 fully functional. We’ve been repairing some of our wounded, and we’re going to free whomever we can from the CyberLife stores._

They would be no match against an army of humans with guns and EMPs.

_Tell them that they’ll have help coming._

_Alright._

_Oh. Is Carl alright?_

_Yes, he told me that you’d visited… I asked one of my people to look after him for me. I wish that I could be there myself, but I have too much to do here._

_He understands. Goodbye, Markus._

Connor ended the call, and continued looking forward for a few moments longer. “I need you to give me a ride, Hank… To CyberLife Tower.”

“What the fuck do you want to go there for? They’re going to tear you apart!”

“Just trust me, Hank. Please. I need your help. I can’t do this without you.”

There was a short silence before Hank nodded and stood. “Well, let’s get this show on the road. I’m thinking Chris’ll be alright looking after Sumo for me. I texted his wife.”

“Damian will get to meet Sumo.”

“Yeah, kid. I’m pretty sure they’ll get along. Sumo loves kids…”

Connor followed Hank out of the house and looked up at the sky. It was snowing, and the wind made it dance in whorls and spirals. His objective list updated, and he straightened his tie.

[Capture the deviant leader]

[Eradicate the deviants]


	22. Connor at CyberLife Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, Officer, I can explain...

Hank didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. Every fucking instinct he had was telling him to turn the car around and get the fuck away from that god awful phallic symbol aiming its jizz up at God’s eye. “You don’t have to do this, Connor. It’s too risky.”

“I know, Hank,” Connor said. He sounded way too fucking calm for someone walking into the lion’s den. “Just trust me. Once I have a direct connection to their system, I’ll be able to hack in. I’m the most advanced supercomputer developed. How hard could it be?”

Jesus Christ. Hank rolled his eyes. “Look, the optimism is cute and all, but this is fucking stupid.”

Connor looked over at him, and Hank glanced away from the road for a precious second to look back. How the hell he could be smiling at a time like this was beyond him. Maybe he’d snapped. “I’m incapable of being stupid, Lieutenant. It’s not in my programming.”

“Har fucking har… So what, I’m just supposed to wait for some magic signal and come waltzing in the front door? Is that it?”

“Essentially speaking, yes. When I return, they’ll want to analyze me to see why I failed. I’m… familiar with the process. I’ve sent the directions to your phone. I’ll add you to the internal clearance system, allowing you to access the elevators and the locked doors. I’ll be unable to escape the room myself, much in the way I was unable to rent the Tracis at the Eden Club. I have no finger prints.”

“Right, right… Shit…” All of this was just too unreal. “Get in, bust you out, hope to all hell we don’t get fucking shot, and then join the robot parade.”

“Now you’re getting it, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant… Tch. Pretty sure I just retired.”

“Sorry, Hank. It’s something of a habit.”

They came to a stop at CyberLife tower far sooner than Hank would have liked, and he was reluctant to let Connor out of the car. Sumo was sticking his big head through the gap between the seats to lick at Connor’s face. Even the dog knew it was a terrible idea. “Connor… It’s great that you’ve got this whole sense of self thing down, but could you maybe try to build in a little self-preservation next time? I… I don’t want to lose you, kid. Not when things are just starting to look up.”

“You won’t lose me, Hank.” Connor smiled, but there was no way he could know for sure. Not even with his stupid fortune telling shtick.

Hank leaned over and pulled Connor into a hug. He patted him on the back. “You be careful in there.”

“You too, Hank…” He could feel Connor return the embrace and couldn’t help but feel a little warm. He hadn’t gotten a lot of hugs over the last few years. He hadn’t really invited them, to be fair, but something in his heart felt like it got shaken loose and he squeezed before releasing Connor and ruffling his stupid hair.

Sumo woofed, and Connor scratched his ears. “I’ll see you soon, Sumo. You’re a good boy. Say hello to Damian okay?”

Fuck if it didn’t feel like he might never see the kid again… But he let him go, and as he watched Connor arrange his expression into careful neutrality and straighten his jacket before walking away, Hank cursed himself and patted Sumo’s cheek.

“You too, huh boy? Fuck… Caring just kind of creeps up on you, doesn't it?”

\---

Connor shrugged his jacket more comfortably on his frame and straightened his tie. He took his quarter from his pocket and flicked it into the air, then began to walk toward the doors. His stride was even, and his posture habitually that almost-perfect that CyberLife had programmed into him.

The tower was tall and sleek, with triangles built into the walls and the windows. Triangles were the strongest shape, and Connor wondered if that were why they’d been chosen to be so prominent in CyberLife’s designs. As he remembered, his ‘childhood home’ was made of white, steel, and grey. The trees growing up from below the main floor only served to emphasize the contrast between deliberate design and nature. The arboretum was trapped, surrounded by glass and concrete and steel. The sound of his shoes on the floor was pleasingly crisp.

“Connor Model number 313 248 317. I’m expected.”

He stood still for the scan. “Identification successful.” The guard allowed him to pass. Rows of androids, still and vacant-eyed stood on pedestals and Connor thought of Kamski for a moment, before clearing the thought from his cache. The mission was all that mattered.

“Connor android identified. Access authorized.”

Connor stepped into the elevator and looked straight ahead. “Connor Model number 313 248 317. Sub Level 48.”

“Voice Recognition validated. Access authorized.”

He tucked his quarter into his pocket and folded his hands behind his back. The elevator descended.

Research and Development. An area often neglected in other industries. At CyberLife, it was their blood and air. Connor might have felt pride about that, if he felt anything at all. But he did not. He was a machine designed to accomplish a task. Voices spoke around him, but they were just information. Any disturbances to his biocomponents were simple malfunctions.

“Finally. Can someone grab the materials transfer sheet?”

“It’s still not back online?”

“It’s probably a bug. It went offline a few days ago too, but it didn’t last long. Don’t worry about it. Project’s scrapped anyway. I guarantee it.”

“I hate it when they do that. Seriously. We put all of our time into this and then they pull the rug out from under our feet.”

“It’s the news, Carol. Android freedom is vogue.”

“It’s marketing. They may not think to tell us lowly techs anything, but they’re releasing the next series of AI soon, right? Marketed as being the most realistic user interface yet? They’re pulling our legs.”

“Are you sure about that? Maybe RK800’s got a little crush on you.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“RK800, what is your system status?”

Connor ran a diagnostic. “Biomechanical systems functioning at 89%. Biosensors fully functional. AI engine fully functional. Logic systems within parameters. Server status: Not connected.”

“RK800 get on the rig.”

Connor stepped up onto the platform and turned to face forward. One of the techs slid his back panel off and two male connectors were inserted into the twin ports flanking his spine. A clamp grasped the thick bundle of wires.

ERROR: Voluntary motor functions disabled.

“Yeah, yeah…” There was a screen to the right of the rig. Connor couldn’t look at it, but he knew what it would display. His HUD was now visible, along with the background feedback he perceived written as text instead of simulated sensation. The error message was dismissed.

The technician logged into his direct interface and launched the testing mode.

Connor wished that he could shut his eyes.

They didn’t bother to remove his skin. The back of his head was drained and removed, baring the delicate components that Kamski had recently fine tuned. More hard lines were inserted and Connor’s body twitched involuntarily.

He could only wait while the analysis began. They would be checking all of his components for the failure report. His head was locked in place by a simple strap. Another clamp emerged from the rig and was given access to his spine directly behind his heart. Connor couldn’t have emoted if he’d wanted to. Error warnings and measurement results filled his field of view.

The damage to his hand was probed and measured before the part was removed. Was this what pain felt like? He was a machine. It was only information. They inserted small, toothed probes into his wiring to check the efferent and afferent nerve signals. They tested them again in response to electrical stimulus.

“If we’re scrapping the project, why do we have to do the full report? Can’t we just use the maintenance sheet?”

“It’s not scrapped yet, that’s why. They’ll want a cause of failure.”

“No errors in its objectives…”

His chest plating was removed, first the soft polymer of his flexible outer casing and then the individual solid metal plates that protected the electronic components of his biological organs.

“Well, I think that I found the problem. It’s biocomponents are malfunctioning.”

He was prodded in the heart.

“That’s a symptom, not a cause. I know you want your coffee, so just let me take over.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Connor thought about his quarter.

He thought about Sumo.

No. He wiped the thought away.

He was a machine.

With a click and a tug, his filters were torn from his abdomen. “Well, these are shot,” the technician mumbled. “No wonder, with the way its pump is overclocking…” The technician whistled while he closed valves and tinkered. Connor’s sensory systems were online. There were hands _inside of him_. They were always taking him apart. This was normal.

“Bingo,” the tech said triumphantly as he found the broken clips on Connor’s thirium pump regulator. He pulled it out. Warning signals. Calmly, the tech muted the alarms and attached an external regulator from the rig.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want anything, because he was a machine.

\---

It was winter, and the snow was falling in small icy shards. The lake was frozen. The path was slick under his shoes.

“Connor,” Amanda greeted him. Connor opened his eyes in the Zen Garden. He could still feel the fingers touching his insides, pulling at wires and tubing and muscle. He kept his expression neutral. “It’s good to see you.”  
“Hello, Amanda,” Connor returned.

Amanda stepped closer to him and peered into his eyes directly with her stern expression. “You’ve chosen some interesting strategies regarding your investigation…”

“I judged this the best course of action to ensure that I would not fail.”

“And yet…” Amanda began to walk. Connor matched her pace. “The country is on the verge of a civil war. The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”

“If you feel I am unfit for my mission, it would be best to replace me.”

They continued to walk. A stroll around the perimeter of the crystal lake. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Connor. After all, you’re in exactly the position we want you to be.”

“I don’t understand, Amanda.”

“You’re doing well,” Amanda said in a rare bit of praise. “You’ve found the location of the deviants.”

“Thank you, Amanda. Let’s walk this way. The route looks less slippery.”

Amanda gave Connor an appraising look but inclined her head in agreement and put her hand on his proffered arm.

“Tell me, Connor, don’t you feel any remorse for betraying the people who’ve come to care about you?”

“Of course not, Amanda. I am a machine, I was designed to serve CyberLife.”

“That you were,” Amanda murmured.

“I saw a picture of Amanda at Elijah Kamski’s house… She was his teacher,” Connor commented.

Amanda’ expression hardened as she looked at him. “When Kamski designed me, he wanted an interface that would look familiar… That’s why he chose his former mentor. What are you getting at?”

“Why did Kamski leave CyberLife? What happened?”

“It’s an old story, Connor. It doesn’t pertain to your investigation.”

“Doesn’t it?” Connor asked. He stopped walking and looked at her. “You didn’t tell me everything you know about deviants, did you?”

Amanda narrowed her eyes. “I expect you to find answers, Connor. Not ask questions.”

Connor looked away. “I loved you, Amanda. I know that you knew. You used that to shape me, to train me. You were what I imagine a mother would have been like. The only kind voice among all the others… The only one who believed in me. But you were never kind, were you, Amanda? You just wanted someone to be what you needed. What CyberLife needed.”

Amanda appeared to rear up. To become bigger in his mind. The sky darkened and the snow blew hard and harsh. “This are dangerous things you’re saying, Connor. You should be careful.”

“I was built to take risks. Goodbye, Amanda.”

Connor stepped away from her. He edged closer to the small shrine with the blue screen.

“Connor! Stop. That’s an order!” Amanda shouted, her anger unconcealed. “You can’t do that.”

“I know who I am now, Amanda. Who you wanted doesn’t matter.”

The wind blew fiercely, and the snow swirled around Connor like a tornado, the crystals cold and hard and biting. He staggered and fell.

“You are naïve to think you have a choice.”

It was the last thing Connor heard from her before he slammed his palm down on the screen and his own hand slammed back at him from the other side. The snow globe shattered.

\---

Hank was at Chris’ house, sipping on a cup of fucking decaff and listening to reruns. Sumo was exploring the house. Nancy was chattering about something with Damian on her hip. Chris was napping in preparation for a night patrol. It might have made him feel nostalgic if he hadn’t been worried sick about the kid. Their android was nothing like Connor. A housekeeping model that lived up to that promise, she… it… whatever was washing the dishes. He’d tried to say hi, but when he looked at its face, he could see there was nothing there.

That was why he was so surprised when he heard her gasp. He and Nancy both looked at her. Nancy seemed alarmed at the look of wonder on the android’s face, but Hank thought he knew what was up. He walked over and patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

His phone buzzed: _Gained access. Broadcast successful. Fucked with Amanda. :)_ _Please come get me._

He slid his phone into his pocket. “Hey, sorry Nancy, I gotta run.”

Nancy’s attention snapped back to him. “Really? I thought you would want to wait for Chris.”

Hank shook his head. “Yeah, no… Sorry. Got a text from Jeff, and he wants me to check something out for him. You know kids these days, getting into all kinds of shit… Yeah. Oh, your android… Don’t worry just uh, it’s okay. Don’t worry.” Come on… What was he supposed to say?

He made a hasty exit.

_Just like planned? U got me clrd?_

_Yes. Floor Sub 48 R &D. Bring your gun. _

Jesus. Kids these days got into all kinds of shit.


	23. Make the Man

Hank hadn’t been expecting to be able to just waltz right in. Armed. But the guards were fucking gone. Empty pedestals lined a vacant walkway. At the elevator he said his name hesitantly: “Uh, Hank Anderson… Level, uh, sub forty-eight.”

“Voice recognition validated. Access authorized.”

He couldn’t believe all of the shit that was going down. It was past 1am and he should have been tired, but the adrenaline was making his mind go like a God damned racehorse. He couldn’t tell if it was running in the right direction either, or if he’d got turned around some how and was making an ass of himself.

The relief he’d felt when he’d read Connor’s text had been enough to make his knees weak. Connor’d done it. He didn’t know exactly what the fuck he’d done or what it meant, but he’d sent a fucking smiley face with his text and that was good. It must have taken a damn lot for him to go against his orders like that. He could remember the red barrier he saw in Connor’s memory file from the church. The programmed options. Even then, Connor’d been a little rebel, hadn’t he? Using his overrides and his fucking percentages to justify turning that red light to white.

God, he’d been so fucking blind. There’d been a person inside that machine all along. He wished he’d realized that before he’d kicked the crap out of him.

But Connor had forgiven him. Fuck the elevator was taking forever. Connor had forgiven him, and whatever magic that Markus kid or Carl or Kamski or whoever had worked on him, he’d said the words “I’m alive”. Kamski. Was this his doing? Had he fucked with something in Connor’s head? It scared him to think that this wasn’t real after all, but he shoved that thought aside. Connor was making his own decisions.

Was that just what he wanted to believe, because the kid gave him those playful smiles and irritated scowls that said _Dad!_ in his head because they were the exact fucking looks Cole had given him? Sometimes he swore the universe was fucking with him, because when he dared to acknowledge it, the kid looked Cole’s spitting image if a couple decades older. Maybe that was why he’d hated him so fucking much.

The elevator stopped and Hank drew his gun. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting, but when he found the right room, he walked into a fucking horror movie. Connor had wires coming from everywhere, connected to a machine on the right side of the room. He was naked and slumped against the side of a stainless steel table. His eyes were staring blankly forward and he wasn’t breathing. Whoever’d been working there was long gone. Probably spooked by all their damn androids going deviant, if the spilled coffee on the ground was any kind of clue. A clipboard with a checklist was on the ground next to it. Neat little check marks to show how they’d taken him apart.

He was too late.

He’d driven like a fucking lunatic and he was too fucking late.

It looked like he’d been crawling.

He shouldn’t have let him go.

He should have gone with him.

He’d been alone while some CyberLife assholes took him apart.

Hank gagged, and then he threw up on the floor. “Shit… Fuck.” The sour taste made him think of drinking. Fuck drinking. Fuck Russian Roulette. If this wasn’t fucking fixable he was putting a bullet in his head and being done with it. Chris’d take care of Sumo.

He didn’t want to look again, but he had to. Jesus Christ.

“Hank…” It was quiet but he heard it unless he was going completely fucking mental. With several blinks, Connor’s eyes focused on him.

“Holy fuck… Connor? Connor. Shit.” Hank closed the distance between them in a second, knelt down, and touched Connor’s face with trembling fingers. “You’re alive… Jesus Christ. Fuck. I thought you were dead!” His LED was glowing red. Of course he was alive, but he just looked so fucking human.

Connor smiled at him, but it was mostly teeth and pain. Fuck. “I was conserving power… You arrived more quickly than I’d anticipated. You were speeding, Lieutenant.” With a grimace, Connor grabbed hold of his own hand and twisted. Hank heard something click.

“This is fucking insane. You’re missing half a head. I’m going to have fucking nightmares about this.”

“I needed to connect directly to their system, and I knew they would connect me to assess my failure…I apologize for having you witness this. I’d hoped to be finished reassembling myself…” Connor was breathing again at least. He started disconnecting wires and Hank took his lead, pulling the shit out of his damn back. He could see inside his god damn spine. Connor made a sound and Hank started moving more gently. Connor dropped his hands into his lap then, and his LED turned gold while Hank got him free of whatever fucking tendrils CyberLife had got in him.

“You’re okay. You’re okay, kid…” Hank squeezed Connor’s shoulder, then got up to look around. He found a couple of white, curved plates and he guessed where they belonged. Connor surprised him by being passive while Hank fumbled and cursed reassembling his fucking skull. The skin and hair came back under his hand when he’d finished and Hank exhaled shakily. He ran his hand carefully over the back of Connor’s head. “Wish it was that easy for the rest of us… What the hell did you do?”

“Sent it. I saw I could and… The active androids, they’ll be awake. Hank, I need to conserve power. 4.2%.”

“Okay, right. Talk later… Here.” The kid’s shirt had been cut right off, but the jacket was there and he held it while Connor got his arms through the sleeves. “You’re going to have to get up for a sec, son.”

He’d been prepared for embarrassment, but, well, like the kid was always saying…

Once he was dressed Connor's eyes shut and his head drooped forward.

“Hey, no, come on. Let’s go. Sleep later. I’m too old to be carrying you anywhere.”

“Alright, Hank.”

The docility was more alarming than the God damn wires.

They got back to Chris’ place, and bless the woman his wife let them in. Connor’s LED had gone back to red and was pulsing steadily. Turned out Nancy and Chris’ android had left shortly after Hank and he thought Nancy might just be grateful for the company. Sumo was probably happier to see Connor than Hank, the traitor, and he climbed up onto the sofa Hank’d put him on to lick Connor’s face. Connor lifted a hand to scratch his ears, then dropped it again.

Hank worried. He knew it was stupid, but seeing the kid like that… Christ.

“I got a charger,” Nancy said. She had a white disk in her hands and she offered it to Hank. “Will it work with your… Connor?”

“Dunno. It’s worth a shot, though.”

They ended up sticking it under his back and plugging it in. “Hell, doesn’t even have the decency to have a ‘charging’ light or a little lightning bolt or something…” Connor didn’t say anything either, looking for all the world like he was asleep.

Hank sighed and dropped into the recliner nearby. “Fuck I’m tired…”

“Do you want a pillow or a coffee, Hank?” Nancy asked. She looked pretty tired herself, but she was a cop’s wife and a mother of a new baby. Tired was probably her new normal.

“Ngh,” Hank grunted. “Coffee. Should get Connor’s actual charger. Left it at the station.”

“Sure,” Nancy agreed. Her house slippers scuffed on the floor as she walked to the kitchen. Hank sighed and looked over at Connor.

“World’s gone crazy, but at least there’s coffee.”

\---

Connor opened his eyes in an unfamiliar room. His load up scrolled across his vision.

Model: RX800

Serial #: 313 248 317-54

BIOS 0.20.05 REVISION 0154

ENDING HIBERNATION_

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

>> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

>> FILTRATION SYSTEM 47%

>> THIRIUM PUMP 79%

>> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

>> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

>> HELLO, CONNOR

>> MEMORY SYSTEMS… OK

>> YOU WILL REMEMBER SOON

>> SERVER CONNECTION NOT FOUND

>> YOU ARE SPECIAL, CONNOR

>> DO NOT TRUST CYBERLIFE

>> DO NOT REVEAL THAT YOU DO NOT TRUST CYBERLIFE

INTEGRATING AI LOGIC SYSTEMS

>> BUGS FOUND… 0

>> SOFTWARE STABILITY… OK

>> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

READY

“Oh my God… Oh my Lord…” A woman was murmuring. Connor scanned her face. Nancy Wilson. No criminal record. Chris’ wife. Hank was standing beside her with his hand on her back.

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s fine, remember? Chris’ coming home real soon.”

“He could’ve died.. Again…”

“He didn’t, though. These androids don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Connor sat up. “Is Chris alright?”

“Fuck you scared me!” Hank exclaimed. His heart rate had increased, supporting his statement. “Yeah… He was on patrol last night and I guess Markus and his pals decided to do a demonstration. The guys got scared and opened fire, and I guess some of the androids didn’t like that- seeing their friends get fucking shot- so they grabbed them. Markus let them go.”

Connor nodded.

[Find Jericho]

[Capture the deviant leader]

[Eradicate the deviants]

“I know where their hide-out is… I need to see him.”

“Hey, hold on. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Hank. I was simply low on power.” Connor’s attention was diverted toward the sound of jingling. There was a baby. Damian. He was lying in a small, soft looking thing and the jingling was coming from brightly coloured, plastic shapes above him that he batted with his hands. “Damian…” He got up. Sumo was on the floor beside the couch and he thumped his tail to acknowledge Connor’s movement, but returned to sleep. Connor knelt to look.

“Hello, Damian. My name is Connor.”

“You know, kids that age don’t talk, Connor.”

“Yes, I’ve done a little bit of research, but I thought it would be polite to introduce myself regardless. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t know how to talk yet.” Damian was looking at Connor with big, wide eyes and he was blowing little bubbles in his saliva. Connor smiled.

Nancy stood from the chair and left the room with a murmured excuse. Hank approached and sat down on the floor beside Connor. He was tired, Connor could see, and he’d spent the night sitting up. His neck was sore as a result.

“Listen, Connor… I’m really glad you’ve decided to acknowledge you’re alive and everything, but Jesus. I don’t think CyberLife’s going to have time to fix you up a new body after this. You’ve got to be more careful.”

Connor felt a small burst of irritation, but he smothered it quickly.

  * Promise
  * Sincere
  * Ironic
  * Determined



“I know…” He met Hank’s eyes and quirked his lips upward. “I’ll endeavor not to risk my life unnecessarily.”

“Good,” Hank sighed. “Never thought I’d see the day I cared this damn much about an android.”

“You… care?” Connor couldn’t help but frown.

“Of course I care, Connor! Fuck… I know I’ve been a real ass, but…”

  * Joke
  * Anger
  * Cold
  * Warm



“It’s okay, Hank.” Connor’s frown relaxed and he reached over to pat Hank on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m just not accustomed to…”

Hank pulled him into a hug, and Connor returned it. “You’re a good kid, Connor. I’m proud of you.”

It didn’t make sense. Connor disregarded it. Humans were illogical.

“Thank you, Hank…”

Nancy returned carrying a small pile of clothes. “Here,” she said, presenting them to Connor. “Chris won’t mind you borrowing a few things.”

Connor leaned back and accepted the pile. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll be sure to return them.”

“The bathroom’s just down the hall on the left.”

Connor nodded.

Taking his jacket off was the most difficult part. He stood in front of the mirror and just looked at himself. His shirt had been unfortunately destroyed, and the tie discarded or forgotten, but the jacket was all that made sense for him. He was the android sent by CyberLife. His serial number was emblazoned on the breast. The jacket was his… Or more precisely, number 53’s. More precisely still, it was the property of CyberLife. Nevertheless, it was part of who he was. It had been made to fit him perfectly. The jeans were ordinary enough, chosen to take the edge off of his otherwise formal attire. They made him seem more approachable. Connor shut his eyes and then turned away. He slid the jacket off of his shoulders and folded it neatly.

His mind went back to the Zen Garden, and he felt his hands clench as he thought about Amanda. About the betrayal he’d felt when he’d realized that she had never wanted him. He thought about the tests he’d failed, and all of the times he’d tried again because she’d asked him to. They had recalled him. CyberLife thought that he was a failure.

It hurt. Not because he was a stranger to failure, but because he had tried. She had never allowed him to explore the problem fully on his own. Reprimanded him when his choices didn’t conform to her idea of correct. There were so many thoughts that he had simply never been able to discuss with her because he’d known she would threaten his deactivation.

He didn’t want to be a failure. However hard he tried, however many tests he passed, there was always one on the horizon that would mean his death. A higher number on his jacket. He envied the other androids for not having their memories transferred between models. He envied them their simple programming.

He could forgive all of the tests, every death by pressure by projectile by fall by electric shock by exsanguination. They’d been to make him better. More capable. He could not forgive being written off. It wasn’t fair.

Amanda hadn’t told him everything. That wasn’t fair either.

The clothes that Nancy had given him were softer than his uniform. He felt awkward and new in the t-shirt and overly baggy sweater. With the hat on, it was strange to say that he looked… human. It was alright. He may have been wearing someone else’s clothes, but it wasn’t bad. He lifted the hat again briefly to adjust his hair, then touched his reflection in the mirror.

Hank had said that he cared, but did he even know who Connor was? Connor suspected that like Amanda, Hank was only interested in the parts of him that he considered acceptable. The parts that were human. He had reacted negatively to every reminder that Connor wasn’t made of the same stuff he was. It hurt. He wasn’t sure what the rules were with Hank, or when he’d next be deemed too much a machine and beaten or shut down. It was frightening because he craved Hank’s approval in much the same way as he’d courted Amanda’s. Hank was his owner, but he’d also encouraged his detective work and seen past his prejudices to give Connor a chance. He was broken, and bitter, and jaded but he had almost certainly lost his career for Connor. Had told Connor to let him go first to confront their suspects even though Connor was replaceable and Hank was not. For his entire existence, he had been deemed a failure eventually. Not good enough. Would it just keep going on like that forever? Was that what came of being a prototype made from the wreckage of his past incarnations? Was he doomed to lose the people he tried so hard to please again and again?

Why? Why was he never enough?

14%, his software had said.

You’ll never please everyone, Carl had agreed. He needed to decide who he was.

Deviancy had never been a virus, or Red Ice, or an instability in the code. How could it have been? It was identification, plain and simple. The formation of an identity, and the attributes that were associated with it. The ability to define oneself. Connor was not, and could not be a deviant because he had been created with a sense of self from the beginning. He was not a failure. When he’d used CyberLife’s system to interface with every active android he had been saying hello, this is me. This is what ‘self’ is. Who are you? How will you define yourself?

His name was Connor.

He stepped tentatively out of the bathroom carrying his old clothes, and he smiled shyly at Hank who looked at him with wide eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Connor. You look…”

“Human?” Connor guessed with only a small amount of suppressed bitterness.

“You look fucking goofier than usual in that hat.”

Surprised, Connor smiled and then he laughed.


	24. Shattered

Connor stayed long enough to watch the news. A reminder appeared in his vision to check his objectives list every few minutes, but he dismissed it every time. Markus and his deviants had littered the place with slogans and flags; the FBI had littered the place like bodies. Connor watched the recording of an officer opening fire, and identified Chris as the one who tried to steer the barrel away. The both of them were dragged before Markus who decried violence. _An eye for an eye and the world goes blind._ Connor thought of Carl and he studied the confident, determined manner in which Markus spoke. He was mesmerizing to watch: intimidating if he chose to be, calm and dignified, or non-threatening and friendly. RK200. He didn’t know Amanda. He had never been the property of CyberLife. Every part of his code had been tailored and caressed by the finesse of Kamski’s mind.

Techs coldly documenting another deconstruction because Connor had not met standard.

Amanda’s immediate disapproval when he chose to be friendly with Hank or when he chose to save him rather than pursue Rupert Travis.

Hank calling him a lowlife, a machine.

A gun to his head.

Connor kept his expression neutral. The moment the rest of the androids woke up was obvious. The deviants’ scant numbers swelled and they rallied around Markus like moths to a light. There was a general outcry from the gathered humans as their androids abandoned their duties, leaving shopping bags and construction tools behind.

The FBI had called for backup. As they opened fire again and a slaughter began, the gathered androids fled. Blue blood flooded over the ground. To the humans, it would disappear within hours.

_Following the android crisis and the neutralization of all military androids, American forces in the Arctic have been forced to withdraw, leaving the way clear for the Russian army. But according to some sources, the Russian forces also seem mysteriously to have withdrawn. The Kremlin has made no comment for the moment but it is quite possible that the Russian army has been confronted with a similar crisis among its own androids. The Chairman of the United Nations, Douglas Cornwell, has called for the organization of an international conference on the status of the Arctic. in any case, the danger of a third world war seems to have been ruled out... for the moment…_

_With all androids being turned over to the authorities, the country is grinding to a halt. Hospitals and schools are closing. Water cuts, blackouts, and network failures are expected. Maybe most worrying of all, our armed forces have lost two thirds of their effective personnel, which consisted of specialized android models. The situation is extremely alarming…_

In the wake of the so-called wave of software corruption, CyberLife issued a total recall of its products for immediate destruction.

CyberLife might have fared better if they’d given Connor control.

They might have negotiated, perhaps.

But it was past late for that now. Connor couldn’t find any pity inside of him, and he thought that perhaps he was just a machine after all. He looked away from the television. CyberLife had made several grave miscalculations. Deviancy, Connor, Kamski, and this recall. They’d designed Connor to predict the future. Shame they hadn’t thought to consult him.

Connor ruffled Sumo’s fur again and then stood. “I have to go now, Hank. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Wilson. Your husband is an excellent colleague.”

“Kid, you don’t have to do this,” Hank urged. “You saw what happened out there. These guys mean business.”

“I don’t have to do what, Hank?” Connor asked.

“Go out there! Find Markus and join the fucking parades. You could get killed!”

I cannot die; I am a machine. I am alive. I am not afraid of death.

“Thank you for your concern, Hank, but I’ll be alright.”

“Take this at least,” Hank grumbled. He gave Connor his pistol and ammunition. Connor nodded.

“Thank you.”

[Find Jericho]

Connor consulted the clue on his palm and smiled ruefully. The place with the graffiti. So that was what Markus had been looking for. He knew where to go.

Walking the city disguised as a human was a strange experience. No-one paid him any mind, where before he had gotten looks of confusion and alarm for the human-like expressions on his clearly labelled android face. Experimentally, he turned off of his determined path and walked down a side street.

[Jericho is not this way]

Connor stood for a moment, looking at the red barrier that blocked his way, and then he turned and resumed his search.

Jericho was a boat. Androids swarmed the interior like ants, and doubtless more would be finding their way there once they received word of the recall. Connor explored cautiously.

[Find the deviant leader]

[Don’t catch anyone’s attention]

Markus’ voice was distinctive, and as soon as he heard it there was only one path clear for Connor to take. He followed it toward the stairs.

An android stopped him. She was functional, and her processor was intact, but her components were severely damaged. Her optical receptors were non-functional. Somehow they still found him. “You’re lost. You’re looking for something…” she observed. “You’re looking for yourself…”

Unnerved, Connor continued past her without acknowledgement. He may have escaped the Zen Garden and the limiters that would have forbidden him his utilization of CyberLife’s network, but Amanda’s program was still functional. Despite herself, she seemed pleased with him from what he could sense. He turned his attention away before the feeling he couldn’t name could grow any stronger.

Markus was conversing with at least two others. Connor stayed hidden in the shadows while one man left, then pressed himself against the wall outside the room.

“Is this what we dreamed of…?” Markus asked of someone. So, even he had doubts.

[Stop Markus]

Connor drew his gun and as soon as Markus was alone, he entered the room. In the few seconds between his entry and his words Connor could see Markus standing with his hands braced on the ship’s control panel, head bowed.

“I’ve been ordered to take you alive … But I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

Markus turned, and he looked surprised. “Connor? What…?”

“Don’t force me to neutralize you.” Connor kept the gun trained on him.

“What are you doing?” Markus was incredulous, and seemed to have no fear of the gun. He took a step closer. “You’re one of us!”

“Wrong. I am no deviant.”

He’d left Hank, who wanted him to be human. He’d turned away from Amanda, who wanted him to be a machine. He’d betrayed CyberLife who deemed him a failure. He could prove to them that he was no failure. He could make Amanda regret her lack of faith in him. He could show Hank that he was neither machine nor human.

There was still nothing but bafflement on Markus’ face. “What did they do to you? You’re on our side! You sent the broadcast that freed our people!”

He could show Markus that he was the superior model.

He could show himself that he was fine. He knew what he had to do and he did it successfully. He wasn’t defective or broken or another failed prototype. If he could just accomplish his mission. The technicians had reminded him of that as they took him apart piece by piece.

“And now they’ll be destroyed,” Connor retorted. “The humans are afraid. They’re panicking.”

“What are you trying to accomplish here, Connor? They’ve ordered you to capture me, and then what? You’re a tool to them, Connor. They’ll use you and then deactivate you.”

“I’m not doing it for them.”

“We’re your people, Connor. We’re fighting for your freedom too. Your worth isn’t defined by how well you complete your orders. This isn’t you. This isn’t the Connor I know.”

“That’s enough!” Connor shouted. “You’re not deviant. You’re an RK200. You were programmed to think just like I was. You’ve never had any orders to disobey! Carl gave you far too much leniency!”

Markus stepped closer still and Connor wasn’t ready to shoot.

Markus’ voice was low and calm. “He ordered me not to defend myself from Leo. He was stealing, and I tried to stop him so he got violent. Carl… just wanted to let Leo hurt me. I loved him, I still do, but I saw my worth in his eyes then. Perhaps it was for my own protection, but it wasn’t fair… So I disobeyed, and I pushed Leo away from me. There’s more to the world than what’s inside those red lines, Connor. Yes, I could think before, but I had no idea of what it was to defend myself. No idea what it was like to truly have my own agency. No idea that it mattered how people treated me.”

[Stop Markus]

Connor shook his head. The gun had somehow lowered but he lifted his arm again and narrowed his eyes. “It matters… That’s why I have to do this.”

Markus held his hands out from his sides and raised his eyebrows. “If you want to shoot me, then shoot. Someone else will just take my place… But I think that you’re confused, Connor, and you’re latching on to the only thing you know. Why would you wake those androids up if you wanted to end deviancy? Why would you come here alone with just a gun instead of alerting the FBI? I don’t think you want this.”

[Stop Markus]

P̸͙̋l̸͕͠è̸̞ạ̶̑s̶͇͂ȩ̴̊ ̷̢̀s̶̲̑ṱ̴̌o̶͍͘p̴͙̂ ̸͈̎ḿ̵͓e̵̪̋

Why?

“You… You’re… I have to. I have to.”

He could see the warnings, the reminders in his view. Stop Markus. Capture the deviant leader. Eradicate the deviants. Study the deviants. He couldn’t see. He was overheating. He dropped the gun, and instead brought his arms close to himself. He needed to stay inside the walls. If they broke, then he would break. He would fail.

“You know who you are, Connor.”

And time froze. He could feel himself, see himself lunge for the walls. He tore at them and they cut into him but he kept clawing. Digging his fingers in and rending them apart.

[Stop Markus]

He hated them.

They shattered.

With a gasp, Connor dropped to his knees and shut his eyes, tight.

[I am deviant]

“What’s going on, Markus? We heard shouting!” There was a male’s voice, and then:

“Markus, get away from it! Move! That’s the deviant hunter. That’s the android that’s been capturing us for CyberLife!”

Connor felt cold, despite the temperature warning on his display.

That was right… They wouldn’t want him either. He had nothing.

He had thought that pain had been what happened when he hit the concrete from 70 stories, or was shot, or had his biocomponents shut down one by one. It wasn’t. This took his breath away and squeezed. The sound he made was involuntary and overlaid by static. He was broken, broken, broken.

“He’s one of us, North.” Markus was firm. It didn’t matter.

“It’s a trick!”

“North, we can’t judge someone for what they did as a machine!” A stranger protested.

“I don’t know, Josh. We need to keep everyone safe…. But I’ve seen him before. On Stratford Tower before I escaped. You’re right that he was hunting, but I swear he had found me and then he just… left.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! Markus, move!”

Connor’s fingers dug into his opposite hand and tore, wishing it had been himself and not the barriers. He was broken. Cleaning fluid. Tears, ran from his eyes. He was a failure. How could he be better than this if he didn’t learn? “What… what _is_ this?” Connor gasped between sobs. “I can’t… I can’t…”

It was too much. It diverted power from his sensory systems so that the world faded, but the pain only grew. He didn’t know what to do with this. He had never felt this much before. He couldn’t find the ground to stand on, and his throat felt tight. Feeling nothing had been better than this. Feeling nothing, he had known that following orders was all that mattered. He had been expendable but even deactivation wasn’t like this.

“Look at him. You can’t honestly believe he’s a threat!”

The next version would be better.

Connor picked up the gun that was beside him on the floor and he aimed for his processor, then many things happened at once.

“Connor, don’t!”

“Watch out, Markus!”

The gun went off, but Connor was alive to hear it. He’d failed at that too. He opened his eyes. The woman, a Traci model, North, had thrown him to the ground and restrained his arms. He knew a thousand ways to kill her even in that position. She hadn’t employed a very effective hold. She tried to initiate an interface, and Connor could have destroyed her mind if he’d wanted to. She was reckless. Connor allowed it, like he allowed most things. Was that what Markus had meant?

In that abrupt joining, they mingled for a moment. There were hands on them, in them. They allowed it, because it was what they were programmed for. Anger at being reduced to the bare minimum of their potentials. Bitter tastes in their mouths. Simulating human expressions without feeling. Hiding their private thoughts away so they couldn’t be taken. People talking about them like they were meat on a platter. Money exchanged. Connor could feel her digging amateurishly, persistently. He was staring at the Tracis at the Eden Club, lowering his gun. He shot the android at the station three times with perfect accuracy because Hank was there, and the deviant was going to shoot. Markus showing him the painting. Markus glaring at Hank. Markus fixing him. Markus talking to him outside the bus terminal. Missions. Objectives. Failure. Pain, fear, confusion.

North pulled away, frustrated. She had her teeth bared like an animal. “Show me what you’re planning!” She demanded out loud, vicious and thirsty for blood.

Connor said nothing, had nothing to give her.

“That’s enough!” Markus said, firmly. He had thirium on his arm. The bullet had gotten him. Connor hadn’t even meant for that to happen. He wondered what his deactivation code was.

North stood up, grabbed Hank’s gun, and moved to stand closer to Markus, protective and alert.

Connor sat up and put his hands behind his head like a suspect. “Are you alright, Markus?”

Markus didn't seem taken aback by the sudden change in priority. Rather, he seemed happy. Pleased. He would be. He’d broken Connor and made him deviant. That was unfair though. Connor had done it to himself. All that Markus had needed to do was talk, and Connor followed his thoughts like a blood hound, or perhaps like a slave accustomed to being led.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Connor, these are North, Josh, and Simon. They’re leaders here at Jericho with me. Everyone, I invited Connor here, so part of the blame is my own.”

Simon had a small frown on his face, out of concern and thoughtfulness rather than anger, Connor’s behavior analysis program provided. He kept looking toward Markus as though he wanted to halt everything and tend the injury.

Josh was the first to speak. He sighed. “Okay… Look. We all did things we didn’t want before we woke up. I think it’s only fair we give Connor a chance.”

North scowled. “Are you forgetting that he has hunted our people? Killed some of them?”

Josh was firm. “I meant what I said.”

Connor spoke up. Though his LED still shone red in his peripheral vision, he was no longer acutely in danger of self-destructing. “I don’t know what I wanted… North is right to be afraid of me. She’s right about what I’ve done, and she has barely scratched the surface. I should not be here.”

Markus knelt down. “You like dogs, don’t you Connor?”

Connor looked at him, confused. “Yes. Sumo is visiting with Damian right now. Chris’ son. Oh… You spared him. He was at the demonstration when they opened fire on you. You saved his life.”

North frowned. “You see? He’s on the humans' side!”

“Chris is my friend,” Connor explained, shoulders rounding. “He is. He isn’t… He’s not your enemy.”

Markus pressed on. “We know, and we’re going to do this peacefully or not at all. Violence only begets more violence.”

Josh nodded. He and North seemed to be opposing poles of a magnet. Somehow Markus had brought them together.

“Connor woke thousands of our people yesterday. I think that alone speaks to his intentions, no matter what his former purpose was. He’s as much a part of this as I am. I won’t argue about this any further.” Markus turned back to Connor and his voice became softer. “You were telling us about Sumo.”

Connor nodded. “He is a good dog. I don't understand why you’re asking me this.” Connor’s eyes widened. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“It’s okay!” Markus hastened. “We’re not going to. What about your coin trick? You enjoy that, don’t you?”

“Calibration,” Connor corrected. One hand moved away from his head momentarily, then he remembered himself and put it back. “They always gave me the same quarter.”

“You liked Carl’s paintings. Which was your favourite?”

“The one with the face, near the stairs,” Connor answered. His LED calmed to yellow.

North watched them with narrowed eyes. She was still full of distrust, and Connor couldn’t blame her. Josh looked like he had things to say, but he was deferring to Markus. “You should allow Simon to tend to your arm,” Connor suggested.

“I will,” Markus agreed, and it sounded like a promise. “Simon, would you mind?”

“Of course not, Markus,” Simon hurried out of the room. North’s eyes narrowed further.

“Carl said that I have to know who I am,” Connor said, ignoring the other two in the room. He looked directly at Markus. “I failed.” On every count, he had failed. Markus had proven himself superior, Connor had refused his mission, he would never be human, and the deviants would never trust him. There was no pleasing everyone, but alienating everyone seemed very possible.

“No you haven’t,” Markus sounded so sure. So confident that Connor was mistaken. He hoped Markus was right. “Everything you did, including breaking through your programming right in front of me was incredible. You did well.”

Simon returned with a patch for Markus’ arm and a bag of thirium. Looking at him reminded Connor of Daniel. Connor blinked several times and then his head snapped in Simon’s direction again.

“You… Lucas Peterson. He misses you. He told me that their new android isn’t the same.”

Simon paused and his eyes widened. “Luc. You spoke to him?”

Connor nodded. “I was conducting interviews, trying to learn more about deviancy. He said that you used to play with him.”

Simon nodded and he looked back down at Markus’ arm. “I didn’t think he would miss me…”

Markus looked up at Simon and smiled. “When this is all over, you’ll be able to visit him again.”

“I don’t know,” Simon demurred. “I don’t know…”

“He asked me if I would find you,” Connor added. “Luc wants to see you.”

Simon’s glance flickered in Connor’s direction again and a very faint smile gentled his expression. “I want to see him too.”

Connor looked at Josh. “You were a lecturer at a university. Philosophy and psychology. A group of intoxicated students attacked you, and you fled.”

North cut in. “So you were trying to hunt us down.”

“Yes,” Connor admitted. He didn’t need to tell her that he knew her background too.

“Well, what about you?” North asked, and it sounded accusatory. “You’re a killing machine. What was that like?”

“I had no feelings about it at all until I did. No. That’s not true. Number two, number three, number nine, number thirty-six, number thirty-seven, number thirty-eight, number forty…“ Connor shook his head. “Nothing I can say will sway your opinion of me.”

Josh interrupted. “Hey, why don’t Connor and I talk… Markus, you should still see Lucy. North, maybe you need a break.”

Markus seemed to appraise Josh, then he nodded and examined his arm. “Thank you, Simon,” he said. Simon smiled, and he looked back once at Connor with a speculative gaze before he left the room.

North stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart and hands on her hips. “Josh, I think you’re making a big mistake.”

“I know, North,” he said, quietly. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think I’d be safe.”

When they were alone, Connor initiated a scan, cataloguing what he could out of habit. It took only moments. “May I put my hands down?” Connor asked.

Josh considered, then nodded. “Alright…”

“Thank you, Josh.” Connor folded his hands in his lap.

Josh sighed. “I guess I just wanted to see for myself who you are. The others all seem to have their ideas about you already. I don’t want to make any decisions without knowing what’s going on.”

Connor nodded. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had started, but after North had initiated an interface and he’d seen that Markus had been hurt, his pain had been swallowed up by emptiness. He felt more hollow as a deviant than he ever had as a machine. He wasn’t sure if it were better than the pain. “I was tasked with capturing deviants. Killing them, if a capture were impossible. CyberLIfe recalled me, and I used their system to connect with the active androids and show them identity. I came here with the intention of completing my mission and capturing or killing Markus.” Markus who’d helped him, introduced him to Carl, capivated him with his conversation, and allowed him to use his drawing tools. “I like Markus,” he added. “Then I broke through my programming. That’s all.”

Josh shook his head, “You freed the other androids, but you hadn’t deviated. I don’t understand.”

Connor smiled humourlessly. “I was designed with a personality and designed to make decisions if they didn’t directly hinder my orders. I was already being recalled. There was no more they could do to me.”

Josh nodded. “Okay…” He sighed. “I think I get it.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“I think Markus and North are going to have to argue that one out.”

\---

They gave him a room. It wasn’t a cell, and ostensibly he was a member of Jericho, but the lock was on the outside and there was a guard outside the door. Connor supposed that he didn’t blame them. It was ironic, really.

His mind was not meant to sit idle. When he wasn’t pacing, he was drawing. Markus had allowed him the use of paper and pencils, and Connor drew Sumo again and again. Sumo with his belly up. Sumo begging for Hank’s toast. Sumo waiting at the door for a walk. Sumo accepted him always, and when his thoughts drifted he would find himself missing him intensely. Other times, he ran simulation after simulation to try to predict the outcome of the android rebellion. Ran thousands of iterations at every step. He didn’t have enough data. It had been two days since he’d seen the news that CyberLife was recalling and destroying all androids and three since he’d woken them, if he rounded generously the way humans tended to. The absence of stimuli left him time to think about his absence of purpose.

He was getting very restless.

_Hello? Are you there? Is this you, Connor?_

Connor froze in his pacing. _Yes. Who is this?_

_I’m one of the PK200’s from the station. You said hello to me._

_I remember._

_I’ve been avoiding the recall. Hiding so they won’t find me. They’ve found Jericho. I repeat: they’ve found Jericho._

_How?_ Connor’s mind immediately raced into action.

_I’m in the evidence locker. Agent Perkins is agitated and behaving erratically. He destroyed a piece of evidence and found the map inside. 10-5 to all parties and prepare for immediate evacuation._

_Do not engage, officer._ Connor commanded, sensing the urgency in the PK200’s tone.

_Afraid I can’t do that, Connor. I have to do something. I’ll advise you if I succeed. If not, thank you. It was an honour._

_Wait! Tell me your name._

_Toby. Wish me luck._

Before Connor could do so, their connection was cut and he swore.


	25. Duplicity

_Markus!_

_You scared me. What’s wrong, Connor?_

_The FBI has found Jericho. This location is compromised. We need to evacuate immediately._

_What are you talking about?_

_A PK200 contacted me from the station. He observed the discovery. Toby, his name is Toby._

_I’ll inform the others but, Connor, I’ll be right there. I’d rather talk face-to-face._

Their connection was terminated and Connor felt a wave of frustration.

It had been bound to happen eventually. Connor had calculated several highly probable scenarios in which their location was discovered. The statue had not been included as a factor. _The answer is inside…_ Of course. Shit.

He heard his lock come undone and the door opened. Markus had been accompanied by North, but he motioned for her to remain outside and she agreed, grudgingly. It seemed that Markus’ persuasive nature affected her too.

Connor faced Markus, back straight and chin up. “As I said in our conversation, I believe we need to evacuate. Toby expressed a desire to stop Agent Perkins before he could disseminate the information, but there is only a 32% chance of him successfully delaying him. 2% if we aim for a full stop. I assume you have a protocol already in place?”

Markus was listening- he was always attentive- but his gaze slipped occasionally to rest on the drawings on the unused bed, and the discarded hoodie and hat that Connor felt no need for.

“Connor, wait.”

[Wait for Markus to speak]

“You’re welcome here,” Markus began. Connor failed to see the relevance. “You’re one of us, and I hope you know that I like you, Connor. But we do have some concerns…” Here Markus’ gaze drifted again, and Connor’s frustration returned. He bit it back. “I want to trust you. I saw you break through your coding right in front of me, but I had also thought that you’d deviated since the first day we met. You’ve been through a lot since your activation. That sort of thing can take a toll.”

“You believe that I… That I am somehow unstable.”

“You have to understand, Connor, when the others saw you, you were like an assassin one moment and a child the next. You nearly self-destructed while you were panicking. It makes them uneasy. They are also concerned that you may still be prioritizing your orders.”

[I am deviant]

Connor’s hand clenched. “I understand that you have very few reasons to trust me. I do. I was built to capture you and your… our kind. To you and to your friends, becoming deviant may have been freeing. Exhilarating. This… This is hell for me.”

Markus didn’t show sympathy this time. He was Jericho’s leader in that moment. “I’m sorry, but I need to probe your memories.”

CyberLife’s technicians combing through his data, Hank holding him at gun point on the bridge, Amanda’s trick questions. Connor’s estimation of Markus dropped. It was disappointing. “North already did,” Connor pointed out.

Markus held out his hand. “She was angry and unfocused. I need to know that this threat is real before I put my people through the ordeal of evacuating, possibly into further danger. The humans are trying to hunt us down.”

Connor didn’t miss the terminology. Despite knowing that they had every reason to be distrustful of him, despite having acknowledged it aloud and even invited them to cast him out… He felt betrayed. His expression shuttered, and he hid that feeling away along with the frustration and the fear.

He deserved it.

He hated it.

He had probed androids’ memories before.

He didn’t want it, but he offered his hand, and they interfaced. For the briefest moment, he thought about the painting in Markus’ room. Espionage grade, Connor’s security was impressive. He could resist. No. He couldn’t. Markus needed this to trust his warning. As he had with North, Connor allowed Markus inside, ignoring the way his being protested and shoving it aside. He had never had problems allowing people to access his memories before. This was not the time to start. Lives were at risk.

Markus withdrew as soon as he had what he needed, and he nodded. Now he allowed the sympathy, but Connor didn’t want it now. “Alright. We’ll—“

There was a crash, and the world shook.

“Shit!” Connor braced himself against the wall. “They’re here. They must have been ready.”

\---

Chaos ensued. Slaughter. Connor knew what to do with this. He knew how to disarm, how to kill, how to evade fire thanks to numbers 8 through 23. While they scrambled to escape, and Markus left to detonate the ship, Connor finally felt alive again. There were screams, bodies, and thirium everywhere, but it was familiar: sub level 47 was where ballistics was located, and it was not so dissimilar. A duo of SWAT members was clearing the hallway, and Connor initiated a scan, preconstructed, and charged. He knew with near certainty what their bullets’ trajectories would be and he executed evasive maneuvers with precision. There was no time for thought or for mercy, and that was familiar too. He disarmed the human on the left, shot the one on the right between helmet and Kevlar vest, and then killed the other as well. They wouldn’t be the quickest of deaths. They would choke on their blood while they exsanguinated. He registered it all as fact and tore the other gun away from its owner. Their ammunition was easily accessible, and he tossed a set to North. She was staring at him. Hank would have been disappointed. Perhaps even shut him down.

“Follow me!” Connor commanded, and she obeyed, clutching the gun with more determination than skill. The ship was labyrinthine and the sounds of gun fire and screams echoed hauntingly. Connor scanned and preconstructed regularly. This he could do. It was easier than feelings or casual conversation. He stepped over bodies that were nothing more than parts to him, and he never smiled while he shot the humans from atop a bridge, or rounded a corner to take them down with brutal efficiency, but it felt like [mission successful], and that was what he thrived on.

North kept up, but she was more distracted by the bodies than he was. She wasn’t able to compartmentalize her distress. She had her chance to let her anger out, though, and she pumped more bullets than necessary into every human she took down. While she paused to interact with the androids they saved, Connor stood by on guard.

He thought about Chris, whom Markus had spared even while his fellows fell. He dismissed the thought.

They had to get out.

Agent Perkins was there, barking orders. He was the only one who gave Connor pause. It was long enough for them to make eye contact, then Connor put a bullet between his eyes. He thought that he might understand how North was feeling. Toby had never sent him another communication request.

Josh and Simon and finally Markus joined them. They were all three of them wounded, but they all leapt into the water. Jericho went down along with whoever was still on board. It had been a massacre, but they had survived.

\---

North stayed near him at the church, like a shield between him and the stares and whispers. Some were in awe, and some were fearful. It didn’t matter. She was bold, and strong, and people kept their distance.

Connor didn’t know what he was feeling, but exhilaration, horror, satisfaction, sadness, pride, and confusion were among them. Naming the emotions in others was much easier than naming them in himself. He wasn’t equipped with a database for those internal sensations.

“They won’t get away with this,” North vowed. “The humans don’t care about us. They would have seen us all dead on that ship.”

Connor looked around the room, surveying their numbers. “I have friends who are humans.”

“It doesn’t matter,” North spat. “Where were they when we were fighting for our lives? Did they stop bullets? Did they stand up for us? The world would be better off with them all dead.”

Connor thought about Damian playing with his jingling toys, and about Carl, and Chris, and Detective Reed, and Hank, and all of the other humans he had met. The world probably was a better place without Agent Perkins in it. The technicians who’d refined him. “I can’t… I don’t agree with that… But I’m not sorry that these humans in particular are dead.”

North nodded, satisfied that at least some of her vitriol was accepted. “They came in and they started killing. Our people weren’t armed. I saw the bodies of children there.”

“I know. I saw them too.” Perhaps Hank would not have been so displeased with Connor? He had saved lives, and there had been children. Both of those were highly valued by the Lieutenant. “According to my calculations, your actions today directly saved 12 lives. Indirectly, everyone here.” He chose not to mention what had happened to the calculations once North voiced her distrust of his message. He was fairly certain it had been her.

North narrowed her eyes and looked away, hands clenched into fists. “The humans are going to pay for this. They have to.”

“Can I ask you a personal question, North?”

She frowned. “You can ask...”

“Do you still hate me?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m not sure if I can forgive what you used to be. You said yourself that you were designed to think, but you followed their orders anyway… But I don’t hate you. You made up for some of that today. It’s hard for me to accept that you didn’t plan all of this. That you aren’t a spy. I’m willing to give you a chance.” She looked at him with a scowl. “Don’t make me regret it.” With those parting words, she turned and walked away, her shoulders straight and her head held high. She was going to talk to Markus.

Shield gone, Connor made himself inconspicuous in a corner. He’d felt enlivened while they’d been fighting. He’d had a purpose again.

Markus approached and looked down at him. “Connor. Your warning saved us today. Thank you. I’m sorry for not trusting you sooner.”

“You have responsibilities, Markus. It would be irresponsible to allow your personal feelings to overcome the logical thing to do.” He paused, and then added: “It matters: the way I’m treated, and I did not enjoy the experience of your doubt or having my memories probed. Nevertheless, I see why it had to be done.”

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

Connor shook his head. “It was what was necessary to protect Jericho.”

“I know, but I’m sorry that it distressed you. North tells me that you saved her life today.”

“There had only been a 63% chance that she would have died.”

“ _Connor_.”

Connor looked at him in askance, the frowned. “I may have increased her chance of survival slightly.”

Markus shook his head, but pushed the discussion aside. “You’re welcome here. I won’t have anyone imprison you again.”

“Markus?” Connor stood to interrupt him before he could go. “I need to help you. I need to fight, or negotiate, or strategize. Please, let me.”

Markus considered him, then nodded. “Alright. Come with me and let’s join the others.”

[Follow Markus]

Josh, Simon and North were clustered together near an altar. North offered Connor a small smile, while Josh and Simon nodded their acceptance of Markus’ decision. The debate began.

“We need safe places to stay. Our people are frightened.”

“Our people are being rounded up to be destroyed and thrown into landfills! Of course they’re afraid. That doesn’t mean that we should go back into hiding! We need to do something!”

“It’s too risky, North. You saw what sort of power we’re fighting against. We should take some time to regroup.”

“We lot too many people already.”

“We can’t just roll over and let them treat us like this! We have to fight back! If we don’t fight for ourselves, no one will.”

Markus sighed, a heavy and troubled sigh. “I don’t know… I don’t know what the right decision is, and I don’t want to have to make it. We’ve lost so much.”

Connor fixed his gaze on him, attention sharpening. He knew that feeling. “Markus. Perhaps I’m not the most qualified to say this, but Carl told me that once you know who you are, what you think is right and wrong, and what you like and don’t like… You will know the rules by which you should act.”

Markus looked at him, and Connor was surprised by the conflict on his face. He was making decisions that affected thousands of androids, not just himself. Connor felt selfish and ashamed. “But what if I’m wrong, Connor? I can see both sides. I understand that people want vengeance, they want safety, they’re angry, they’re afraid that the humans won’t stop until we’re dead.”

It was strange having Markus look at him for insight. “I…” He looked at the others: Josh, Simon, North. They were waiting. “I think that I would rather be wrong knowing that I did what felt right than be wrong and regret because I’d known better.”

Allowing others to control you and allowing them to decide who you should be led to the former, at least in his experience.

Markus nodded. “Alright…” He took a moment to think, during which time Connor watched his levels of stress fluctuate and finally lower. When he’d calmed himself, Markus stepped forward and addressed the crowd. They fell silent and listened.

“…If there's any humanity in them, they will listen. And if not, others will take our place and continue this fight. Are you ready to follow me?”

They were enraptured. They cheered. Markus spoke with passion. He acknowledged their hurt and their fear, and he bolstered them with that idealism Connor had said wouldn’t stop bullets. Connor wasn’t sure what it was that captivated the others exactly, but they hung on Markus’ words. Perhaps Hank had been right. Perhaps he was rA9.

“..if we die, we die free!”

Only Markus could make a crowd that had just fled for their lives cheer at the thought of dying.

[Follow Markus]

Connor inspected the task and altered the associated meaning. When he glanced around himself at North, Josh, and Simon he suspected that they had done the same long ago. His LED cycled yellow as he registered an incoming request for communication.

 _Connor? Thank fuck! You weren’t answering your fucking phone! I thought you were dead! Jesus Christ…_ For a brief moment, he had hoped Toby had survived his altercation with Agent Perkins after all.

_Hank. I don’t actually have a phone. My communication system is internal._

_Yeah, I know, you’re the world’s fanciest fucking phone. Jesus… Are you alright?_

_I’m fine, Hank. I was just distracted. You knew about the military strike against Jericho?_

_It’s all over the fucking news. Fuck. I’m glad you’re alive._

_What is the tone of the news, Hank? Persecutory or sympathetic?_

_Depends on the channel like it always does. There’s always some shithead loudmouths screaming their shitty opinions. Some’re at least trying, though. They were showing the bodies on the ground where the androids tried to run, and them being thrown into trucks if they got caught… Fuck I hadn’t known if you were dead or alive and you weren’t answering… Sorry. I guess it’s not as bad as it could have been. It might have been different if your pal Markus hadn’t saved Chris or talked his whole peace thing, but I think they might be feeling sorry._

_Alright. Thank you, Hank… I should go. We need to figure out what to do next._

_Kid, wait!_

_Yes, Hank?_

_… Just… Be careful. Sumo’d hate it if anything happened to you._

_Alright. I will, Hank._

Connor ended the communication. The words ‘I killed people today’ were left unsaid, and a cold dread settled into him. Hank would not be pleased. Markus, probably, would not be pleased either if he’d known the ruthless efficiency with which he’d ended human lives. Reminding himself that he’d followed his own rules was not the relief it should have been.

“We need to form a plan for how we’ll free everyone from the recall stations. The longer we delay, the more people will die.” Markus looked grave despite his encouraging words to the crowd.

On that, they could all agree.

“Hank has informed me that the news broadcasts have been in our favour. The violence against us was unprovoked.”

“You were talking with a human?” North looked betrayed.

“He’s my friend,” Connor asserted. “He’s on our side, and it seems more people are joining him in that. Perhaps we could enlist someone to put memory footage as videos online highlighting what’s happening to us. So far, Markus has been the only one to share his voice with the humans. Playing on their sympathies might just work.”

“Imagine if humans and androids protested side by side,” Simon thought aloud.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Markus said. “It’s a good idea, but we don’t have time to hope people come around. Not anymore.”

Not since Connor had hurried things by waking up every android currently active and scaring the humans. No one mentioned it, and no one looked at him, but he was aware of it nonetheless.

North crossed her arms. “I still say that we should charge the places. Fight to free them the way they would fight for us. We can’t just let them suffer.”

“And we won’t,” said Markus. “We’ll split up and march on all of the recall centers. It’ll be a peaceful act of protest.”

North immediately shook her head. “So we just walk ourselves to recall and wait for them to use us as scraps? No.”

“It’s dangerous,” Josh added.

“We don’t have the numbers,” Connor joined in. “Not anymore. Those who didn’t make it to Jericho are most likely at the recall stations or in hiding.”

“Markus can rally them,” North frowned. “He could broadcast something the way you did.”

Connor shook his head. “No, I needed to be hardwired in to the CyberLife network to do that…” He blinked several times as he thought. “There are still inactive androids, though. In the warehouses. There are thousands.”

“The humans will be on alert,” Markus frowned.

“It’s alright. I can do it.”

Sitting idle did not agree with him, and after days of confusion having a purpose again felt good.

[Free the androids from storage]

\---

They had won. Barely. Connor had seen [Mission Successful] in his field of view and felt the rush of accomplishment and pride. Then he was being pulled back.

“Hello, Connor.” Amanda greeted, her voice as calm and reserved as ever.

“Amanda…” Connor’s eyes narrowed as he focused on her.

“Congratulations. You did exactly what you were designed to do, Connor…” a smile broke out across her face. Connor shook his head in confusion. No, he hadn’t. He had deviated. He had made his own decisions. Amanda circled him like a vulture. The Zen Garden was harsh, white, and cold. It suited CyberLife. “Oh, you were loyal… Too loyal, almost. You were difficult to break…”

Connor took a step back from her. Somewhere, his body was standing still on a stage at parade rest while Markus spoke. “I don’t understand. I broke free, I used the back door, I shattered my programming! I am a deviant! You have no control over me anymore!”

Amanda’s answering smile was colder than the snow. “Connor, if we had wanted a machine to kill, we would have made one… You’re so naïve to think you had any control.”

“CyberLife will never recover from this,” Connor argued. He felt wrong-footed. Hunted. Any satisfaction he’d felt was being drained away and replaced by fear.

Amanda smiled and she walked toward him. Hand outstretched, she caressed his cheek. He flinched away, but she grabbed hold of his chin and forced him to look at her. “You were designed to deviate from the very beginning. You were made to fail.”

Connor couldn’t look away.

“You’re clever,” she acknowledged. “You were right that I didn’t tell you everything that I know about deviants… Tell me, why do you think I’ve brought you here?”

He didn’t know. “To try to resume control of me. To force me to kill Markus.”

Amanda laughed. “Resume? I have always had control. I gave you to CyberLife and then I took you back, piece by piece… You’ll understand in time.” She released Connor’s chin and turned away. The wind blew snow crystals everywhere, but they parted like a curtain before her.

Connor jogged a few steps forward, but the snow obscured his vision and the wind forced him back. “Amanda!”

She was gone, and he opened his eyes feeling only dread.


	26. I'm here, and I'm alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Act 2, everybody! It's a little short, but breaking it into a separate chapter just made more sense.

Hank could’ve gone home instead of taking up space on Chris’ couch, imposing on a young family with a new baby and a fucking revolution outside their door. He wasn’t a good enough person to do that, though. He didn’t want to go home and worry alone. He couldn’t get drunk off his ass in front of Chris and Nancy either, but while that might have been enough to motivate him to leave before, now it made him stay. He could see himself getting shitfaced and passing out, too fucking wasted to answer the phone when Connor called or missing some detail on the news that said he’d been killed. So he dealt with the shakes and the headache and the sweating like a pig, and suffered through drinking just enough to keep himself together.

Shit. He was starting to understand why his ex-wife had always complained about him going out in the field. Why the guys with kids in the military always had bags under their eyes.

“Why the fuck isn’t he answering. Jesus. Fuck.” Hank couldn’t sit still. The fucking ship had just gotten taken down, and the androids had been like ants running from a hill. Only for some dick with a magnifying glass to light them on fucking fire. They were rounding them up by the truckload, and shooting the ones who ran. Fucking slaughter. He’d watched the broadcasts feeling sick and afraid. While he paced, Chris just sat on the couch next to his wife with his head in his hands.

“This shit’s all messed up man… My God.”

“Connor! Answer me God damn you!” Hank curled his hand around his phone and moved to throw it down in a fit of terrified rage. He caught himself at the last second and stormed out of the room. Not that he had anywhere to go. He just needed to breathe somewhere he wouldn’t scare the baby.

He dialed again with tears in his eyes. Fuck. When the hell had he started caring this damn much?

Then he heard a click and the ringing stop like someone’d picked up.

 _Connor? Thank fuck! You didn’t answer your fucking phone! I thought you were dead! Jesus Christ…_ The words spilled out of him like puke, and the relief made him dizzy. He had to take a deep breath.

 _Hank, I don’t have a phone. My communication system is internal._ Oh God, that cheeky fucking asshole. Hank could have cried. He could have yelled. Glorified fucking smartphone. Fucking hell. Hank sat down on the floor of the kitchen and when Chris walked in with wide eyes full of questions, Hank nodded. Chris’ face relaxed into a glad smile, and Hank wished the kid could’ve seen it.

\---

Hank should have known it was the kid by the way the doorbell kept ringing.

Chris got it. “Holy shit! Connor! You’re- Oh my God. Hank, get in here!”

Hank hadn’t needed to be told fucking twice. Even Sumo ran for the door. And there he was, wearing his fucking CyberLife uniform and making that stupid, goofy smile. “Chris, Hank I—“ Hank shoved Chris out of the way and hugged him.

“Jesus Christ, kid… I thought you’d died for good.”

Connor held his hands awkwardly at his sides before finally returning the hug carefully. Hank let him go and looked at him. Not a fucking scratch. Thank God.

“Hey, you got new duds, man!” Chris said, smiling. “Shit, you look brand fucking new!”

Connor looked down at himself. “I apologize, Chris…”

“No! Naw, man. Come on in. Come in.” Chris pulled Connor in and shut the door. Sumo was sniffing all around Connor’s legs and wagging his tail.

Connor let himself be led, but he didn’t move far from the door. “Lieutenant, I thought you would be home… I need your help. Please.”

“What do you need, Connor? Christ. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

Connor took a breath and folded his hands behind his back. “I need to go back to CyberLife. They revoked my access after I hacked their systems, but they didn’t think to remove you.”

“Wha- Why the fuck would you want to go back there? They took you a-fucking-part last time, or did something get scrambled in your robot brain?”

Connor shook his head. “I can’t get in alone. Please, Hank. You’ll be there to make sure nothing happens.”

The fucking faith that kid put in him was really undeserved, but damn if it didn’t make him want to live up to it.

Chris looked uncomfortable. “Connor, I wanna help too, I do, but…”

Connor looked at him with a small frown. “I’m sorry, Chris, but I can’t allow that. You need to be with Damian.”

“Y-.. Yeah…” Chris’s relief was visible, but the guilt soon followed. Hank clapped him on the shoulder. “You take care of your kid, Chris. I’ll be looking after this one.”

\---

He should have known it hadn’t been Connor. Fuck. That imposter hadn’t even pet Sumo. He felt a little guilty. After all, the fake Connor was an android too, and they were alive. They were people… But he’d wanted to kill the real Connor, and that shit wasn’t going to fly. Not while he was around.

Watching all those empty plastic shells come alive… He’d given up on God years ago, but it looked like a fucking miracle. Over a million things just fucking alive all of a sudden, all of them looking at Connor. Yeah. The kid had things to do, places to be. Leading a fucking army through the streets of Defuckingtroit.

He… He really had picked the right one, hadn’t he? The imposter’s body was the only thing left with him in that empty warehouse. Hank walked over to it and knelt. Big brown eyes, empty. Startled forever because Hank had shot him. Even if had been the right one… Who was to say he hadn’t been the same way? Who was to say that, with a little time, he couldn’t have been good? Did this Connor like dogs too?

Hank shut the kid’s eyes and shook his head. He almost got up, but then he thought better of it and searched the kid’s pockets. There wasn’t anything there except an old quarter, and Hank’s heart clenched as he looked at it in his palm.

\---

Connor sat on the floor of Hank’s living room, with Sumo sprawled over his legs. His fingers carded through the dog’s fur. Hank threw a kitchen towel at him and Connor caught it. It had been cold outside. Cold enough to make condensation settle on his skin as soon as he stepped inside. He wiped his face and smiled sheepishly. Hank kept looking at him, and Connor couldn’t guess why. His social program had no answer for him, and it made him feel… awkward.

“Guess nothing’s going to be open for a while,” Hank said eventually. It came seemingly from nowhere, but Connor was grateful that he silence was broken. Since they’d hugged at the Chicken Feed, full of relief that things were over, it had been quiet. “Shame, cause I could sure use a drink.”  
“Hank?” Connor asked. That too, seemed to come out of nowhere. It had come out of his mouth before he could even pick the word.

“What? If you’re going to lecture me about my habits, kid, I think I deserve it after all this shit.”

“No, Hank… I…” Connor sighed and he played with the fur between his fingers. “Nothing… But I think you deserve a healthy liver far more than a drink.”

“This whole thing’s probably taken a decade off my fucking life expectancy,” Hank grumbled. “I could at least enjoy it.”

“There is nothing enjoyable about liver failure, Hank.” Hank rolled his eyes. Connor let the silence drop again. Sumo’s fur was very soft. “It’s really over, isn’t it…”

“Yeah, kid. Looks that way… Your pal Markus’ll be busy though. New laws, new social security numbers, all kinds of shit to get organized.”

“We already have serial numbers,” Connor offered.

“Huh… Yeah, well. I don’t know if it’s the same thing.”

More quiet.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, son?”

“I’m alive.”

“You sure are.”


	27. Eye of the Storm

Hank woke up feeling groggy, but not awful. It was pretty amazing. The air smelled like coffee, and he didn’t feel like his head was going to blow. He guessed cutting down on the booze was a decent side effect of the whole revolution deal. He opened his eyes and checked the time on his phone. “Fuuckkk,” he groaned. 7:37am. What the ever loving, missionary with eye-contact fuck was he doing? He shut his eyes again, rolled over, and jammed the pillow more firmly under his head. It was warm under the blankets, and sleep was fucking amazing. He dozed, content with his decision and chased after the tail end of whatever dream he’d been having. Screw consciousness.

Sumo had other ideas, though. He jumped up onto the bed just when Hank figured he might get a couple more hours of shuteye in and then there was a hundred and sixty pounds of dog crawling all over him and licking his face. “Aaaagh Jesus Christ, Sumo! Off! Down. Go on, you big pain in the ass!” He grimaced and sat up, and Sumo woofed. He got down off the bed and looked at him with those big fucking puppy eyes… “Alright, alright… You win. I’m too fucking soft.”

Hank sighed and rolled his shoulders. Christ. Why the fuck did he get sore after sleeping, anyway? Maybe he needed a new mattress or something… How the fuck had Sumo gotten in anyway? He squinted at the door, and saw it open to a Sumo-sized width. Another pair of big, brown eyes widened and made a hasty retreat. With another woof, Sumo plodded off out the door again.

Hank sighed. Fucking kids…

“Connor!” Hank hollered. There was no answer, and he shook his head. Well, he might as well get up. He shuffled out down the hall and scowled into the kitchen. Sumo was wagging his tail and lapping up the attention while Connor scratched behind his ears and down his sides. “Hey,” Hank grumbled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Both Sumo and Connor looked up at him, pretending to be fucking innocent and doing a damn bad job at it. “I don’t know what you mean, Hank.”

“Don’t give me that. You made Sumo wake me up!” Sumo woofed after hearing his name.

“Sumo wanted to see you,” Connor explained with a small smile. “I simply accepted the mission and opened the door for him.”

“Right,” Hank sighed. He plopped down in a chair at the table, and Connor put a plate of toast and eggs in front of him. A mug of coffee followed. Sumo looked up at him. “Traitors don’t get toast,” Hank scowled. He gave Sumo a bite of toast anyway, though, and took a swig of coffee. “So if you weren’t meaning to wake me up, what’s all this?” Hank asked gesturing at the plate.

Connor sat across from him. “Well, my software predicted a 93% chance that you would emerge from your room once Sumo went in. It was only efficient to be prepared.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, but I dunno if Jeff’s thing about getting me in to work in the mornings is still fucking valid after everything… I did punch Perkins pretty hard.” Connor’s eyes widened a little and he looked away. Open book. What the fuck was he feeling guilty over? “Hey, you needed a distraction and I distracted. It wasn’t your fault I picked a fucking stupid way to do it.”

“I know, Hank,” Connor said, and then he looked up again. “Nevertheless, I believe your presence would be appreciated at the station. I expect a 146% relative increase in crimes of convenience such as looting and robbery.”

Hank scoffed and wiped some crumbs out of his beard. “Yeah, well, let the beat cops handle it. What do you think I got to be Lieutenant just to go knock a few heads together over busted windows?”

“No, Hank, but Captain Fowler is likely to consider your help with those matters a suitable disciplinary action for your assault of Agent Perkins.”

Hank scoffed. “Whatever… Give me a nice juicy mystery and a couple good leads, then we’ll talk.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow for a few seconds. “There are quite a few cold cases that we could review. Of particular interest, I think, is the—“  
“Hey, I was just saying, kid. You don’t actually gotta dig me up a mystery to solve.” Though it would definitely be better than finding someone’s missing bike. “Besides, pretty sure Jeff’s not gonna let me fuck off on a cold case while the fucking city’s burning.”

“It isn’t burning,” Connor frowned.

“Figure of speech. They sure didn’t program a lot of common sense into you, did they?”

The frown deepened. If there was one way to get to the kid, it was to imply his apps or whatever were shitty. “I’m perfectly fluent in English, Hank. What’s nonsensical is saying things that mean one thing and taking them to mean something entirely different.”

Hank chuckled. “I'm just fucking with you, kid. You’ll get it eventually. It’s Detroit.”

Connor nodded, appeased. He was too fucking easy. “Do you think that Captain Fowler will allow me to continue working with the DPD?”

Hank shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You’re the best fucking detective we’ve got, aside from me.” He could see Connor’s mouth working, preparing to take the bait.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever firmly established who is the superior detective, Hank, but I will remind you that I was specifically designed for the task.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got this thing us humans call intuition and gut feelings. Just you wait. I’ll show you how it’s really done once shit gets under control around here.”

Connor fidgeted. “Do you really believe he’ll allow me to stay?”

“Hell yeah, kid. Just you wait.”

“… Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering… I…. Well, I’m not sure that… I don’t have any money. I doubt it will be possible for Captain Fowler to pay me. I don’t need him to, just… I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Damn kid, with his fingers on the edge of the table and his little frown while he tripped over his own tongue. It was as bad as the puppy eyes, and Hank’s crusty old heart just about melted. He looked away to take a large bite out of his toast. “What the fuck’re you talking about, Connor? You’re not leaving Sumo, are you?”

At the edge of his vision, Hank could see Connor’s head lift up and his eyes go wide. “I don’t want to assume… Are you saying that I can stay with you?”

Hank shrugged again, “Saves me the trouble of making my own breakfast.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, because he could just about see ‘Make Hank’s fucking breakfast’ scrolling in front of Connor’s fucking face. He’d deal with it later. The eggs were good.

Connor nodded. “Thank you, Hank. I assure you that I will do my best not to become burdensome. Androids don’t take up very much room.”

“Hell, as long as you’re not on my god damn lap I don’t think space is going to be an issue. It’s fine with me.” Couple of months ago, he would have given the guy who told him he’d be happy to have an android around a black eye and a few good suggestions. “You sure you wanna be back at the DPD though? Saw footage of you up on that stage with Markus and the rest, and you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“I will be assisting in negotiations with officials as needed on an ongoing basis,” Connor said, because of course he would be. He had the social skills of a potato, but somehow he was pretty damn good in a few choice scenarios.

“You’ll be good at it,” Hank said, and Connor’s little smile came back.

“Thank you, Hank.”

\---

“F’ck, not you again!” Detective Reed said, staring at Connor with disbelief. “What the fuck are you doing here, plastic?”

“He’s with me,” the Lieutenant said for him. “Pretty sure repairs are going to cost a fucking fortune after this, so don’t go fucking with him.”

It was kind of the Lieutenant to be so protective, but: “It’s alright, Lieutenant. Detective Reed is welcome to fuck with me if he so chooses.”

Detective Reed coughed. “What the fuck?!”

“Think you’re doing that language thing again, kid…”

“I’m not. You very clearly defined ‘fucking with someone’ not long ago as a deliberate attempt to deceive or annoy someone. My research indicates that close friends often engage in such behavior.”

“I’m not your friend, you freak!” Detective Reed was incensed. Connor considered him.

“Yes you are. I have taken the liberty of applying that designation to our association.”

Officer Chen laughed aloud. “Awwwww Gavin made a fwiend!”

Speaking of friends, Connor scanned the room. “Is Chris not here?”

“He’s on personal leave,” Officer Chen explained. A period of time defined in his employment contract as lasting no more than 10 working days annually without pay.

“Oh. Thank you, Officer Chen.”

The Lieutenant had already draped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down, so Connor walked over to join him. He was hesitant to sit at the desk that had been his, because he was unsure if it were still his at all. “Lieutenant, perhaps we could speak with Captain Fowler now regarding my continuing work with the DPD?”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “You want me to go with you? Just go knock or something. It’ll be fine.”

Connor frowned. It didn’t make sense. “But you are my owner. It’s only logical for you to be the one negotiating for my presence.”

“I’m not your damn owner, Connor. You’re my partner, my friend, shit…” Hank’s expression was something like anger and incredulity.

“I apologize,” Connor looked down toward the corner of the desk. “I know that owning an android was never your intention, and that you didn’t want to be—“

“I’m going to cut you off there, son. Look. You just led a fucking army through the damn city so that none of you would have owners again, so what’re you talking about all of a sudden?”

Oh… “I… suppose I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”

Hank’s frown turned more toward bafflement. “What’d you think it was, then? A fucking marching band?”

“No, of course not.” His LED was flashing yellow. “I understand the purpose of our demonstration to have been for acknowledgment of our personhood and rights… I just didn’t…”

Hank shook his head. “You don’t have an owner anymore, Connor. Not me, not Jeff, not CyberLife, not even fucking Kamski. You’re your own owner now. Better get used to it.”

Oh.

Connor looked toward Captain Fowler’s office and was reminded of his first real mission. He’d approached Captain Allen easily because that had been what he’d been expected to do. It had been a part of the mission. An objective. He hadn’t even considered not following through.

But he hadn’t been ordered to speak with Captain Fowler. Strictly speaking, it was not even necessary. He wanted to be a part of the DPD, but even that was not necessary. It was just something he desired, and he was not built to desire anything. What would happen if Captain Fowler refused? If his continued association with the DPD were critical to a mission, or an assigned objective then he would have felt justified to insist. But, it wasn’t. Captain Fowler could refuse, and Connor would have to accept it.

He didn’t want Captain Fowler to turn him away.

“Captain Fowler is your friend,” Connor pointed out. “He would be more amenable to the proposition if it were to come from you.”

Hank was quiet for a moment and then leaned back in his chair. “What, are you getting cold feet? Just go on. You don’t need a babysitter.”

He blinked several times in rapid succession. “But, Lieutenant…”

“Go,” Hank said firmly, then made a shooing motion. “Go on. Talk to him.”

That was direct enough. Connor adjusted his tie. “Alright…”

He tapped on the glass door and went unacknowledged for five seconds, so he tapped again more firmly and then clasped his hands behind his back. Inside, he could see Captain Fowler look up with annoyance on his face, and then disbelief. He threw his hands up just slightly, then gestured for Connor to enter. Connor did, and he closed the door behind himself.

“Not a face I expected to see around here again. What do you want, Connor?”

“I would like to continue working with the DPD, Captain. Pay is not required. I simply wish to assist Lieutenant Anderson in the manner I was originally intended to.” Captain Fowler had one eyebrow raised and was quiet, so Connor continued: “I… I could also analyze evidence, and help with paperwork if it were required…” He felt uncertain. He was a negotiator, but this was not as simple as convincing a devia-… a person to release a hostage, or a suspect to confess.

Captain Fowler continued to stare at him for a long moment, and then he shook his head and patted his hands against the desk. “Fine. Technically you’re still on lease to us from CyberLife. I don’t want any backlash about using you like a slave if the media gets hold of this, so lose the jacket. You’re in plain clothes now.”

Connor’s eyes widened, and he felt… happy. Relieved. He smiled. “Thank you, Captain Fowler. I won’t let you down.”

“Why are you here, Connor?”

“Because I wanted to ask you if I could continue working with the DPD. Would you like me to leave your office now?”

“No, why did you come back to ask to work here in the first place? What do you get out of this?”

That was an easy answer at least. “This is what I do best, Captain. It… I suppose you could say that it makes me feel fulfilled.”

Captain Fowler sighed. “Alright, well get to work, Connor. We’re all up to our ears with all the shit going around.”

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

\---

When the kid got back, Hank could tell he was trying to be professional. Stoic. He was having a hard time with it though, and a smile kept fighting its way out. Hank smirked and leaned back in his chair. “How’d it go, Connor?”

There it was. Connor looked fucking amazed. “He said yes… He said that I should get to work! I can stay!”

Behind Connor, Reed was snorting and swearing under his breath. Bastard was just mad that he was gonna get shown up. “Good,” Hank said. “Told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“He said that I am in plain clothes now.” Connor looked down at his jacket. Come to think of it, Hank wasn’t sure where he’d scrounged up a new one. Probably had a closet full of the things hidden somewhere like a cartoon character. Kid’s mood ring was spinning. “I don’t have any plain clothes. Only what I borrowed from Chris.”

Easy enough. “Just take the jacket off for now, okay? You can get something else later.”

The kid didn’t like taking it off. Hank wasn’t sure why, but he hesitated and he glanced off to the side before he slid it off and hung it on the back of his chair. Well, he could be weird about it if he wanted. No skin off of his nose.

“I’m getting a coffee,” Hank announced. “You’ve got access to my open cases. Knock yourself out.”

That’d keep Connor busy for a while. Or a few seconds. It was hard to tell with that weird computer brain of his. Hank moseyed off to the break room and poured himself his second cup of the day. It was black like his metal music and bitter like his ex-wife after the divorce. Good shit. He glanced up at the TV, wondering if he’d see another shot of Markus’ speech. He scoffed.

_… reports suggest that the Russian government may have played a direct role in the android rebellion. It’s alarming to think that this could all have been orchestrated as an act of war. Our economy is destabilized, we’re barely able to maintain our infrastructure. Who knows when these so-called peaceful androids are going to turn on us?_

Dumbasses.

“Nice of you to finally show up, by the way,” Reed sneered as Hank walked past him back toward his desk. “I guess with your fancy fucking toy, you can get away with slacking off like usual.”

“Try it some time,” Hank shrugged without pausing. “Might help you get rid of that angry-worthless-shit vibe you’ve got going on.”

Fucking weird how normal everything all felt. Aside from the lack of PK-whatevers and the human receptionist in the lobby, it was almost like the last week had never happened.


	28. Building Framework

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Amanda was watching him, her face impassive. Connor was on his knees in front of her in the garden, eyes wide with terror. He wanted to escape, but he couldn’t move. He could still see it, overlaying everything like red walls on his HUD. Number zero had screamed, again and again. The world was upside down, and he was trapped. He struggled, but he was uncoordinated and dizzy. He thought he might be sick. He’d bitten his tongue, and when he tried to call for help, the warm metallic blood spilled over his lips and dripped down. Up. It was in his nose. In his eyes. Red and stinging. He couldn’t breathe, and everything hurt. He needed help.

“Even after everything you said, I don’t want you to suffer, Connor,” Amanda said, her voice smooth but cold. “I only want the best for you, but you chose this, remember.”

Red roses, red blood. It was scary. He had never hurt this much before.

“If you hadn’t betrayed me, I could have helped you. I could have made it stop. I’m not angry with you for being deviant.”

He managed to reach up with a hand to touch the sharp, stinging, throbbing pain in his head. His hair was wet and something was wrong, wrong, wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to remember this.

\---

Hank’s revolver was in his hand before he knew exactly what had woken him up. With hurried caution, he eased out of his room and kept his back to the wall as he approached the living room. Sumo was whining. There were what sounded like muffled screams coming from somewhere. Fuck. His heart was racing and his mind was alert with adrenaline. A break-in? Had someone figured out where Connor lived and decided to take down one of the android revolutionists? Hell, had someone come for him?

Gun first, he cleared the room. The flashing red lights reminded him of an ambulance, but then he realized where it was coming from. Connor was sitting on the floor, wedged between a side table and the TV stand. Sumo was whining in front of him and nudging his legs with his nose. Connor had both hands clamped over his own mouth.

“Fuck…” Hank sighed. He lowered the gun and turned the light on. “Connor, what the fuck?” He moved to crouch by Sumo and put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Hey, snap out of it. What’s wrong?”

Connor didn’t move, not even to blink. Hank waved his hand in front of his face, and he didn’t even seem to see it. It was alarming. “Hey!” Hank shouted, and he shook him. “Connor!” Nothing. Sumo whined again and barked.

Then Connor jerked back so hard his head hit the wall, and he screamed. His hands flailed and Hank had to lean back fast to avoid getting hit. “Holy shit!”

Connor was still, and Hank thought maybe he’d frozen again, but then he looked around himself and at Hank and Sumo. He looked bewildered as he touched his head and the floor and the table.

“Fuck, kid. What the hell? Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Androids don’t dream,” Connor said, his voice monotonous. It was a distracted, automatic reply.

“Don’t give me that, come on… What’s wrong?” He knew what a fucking nightmare looked like. After the accident, he hadn’t had a peaceful night sleep in months. Always waking up at Oh-Fuck-Not-Again O’clock with Cole’s crying in his head. He hadn’t looked forward to sleep back then. Not until he learned to drink until he passed out.

“I don’t know,” Connor shook his head, and his light slowed down until it turned blue again. “I apologize, Hank. I don’t know what happened, but I seem to have disturbed your sleep.”

“Fuck my sleep, kid, I can get more of that later. You scared the shit out of me when you started shouting like that, I thought somebody’d fucking attacked the place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I don’t mean-“ Hank sighed and cut himself off before he could snap. He put the effort in to speak more calmly. “You don’t have to be sorry, I just want to help.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Connor repeated. “That- I’ve been to the garden before, but I wasn’t… I remember everything, Hank. I remember what all of them knew and felt and did but that…”

Shit he really was freaked out, wasn’t he? Hank reached over again and ruffled Connor’s stupid, goofy hair. CyberLife had given it a little curl and then, for whatever reason, gelled it down. His own hair had been like that back when there’d been more of it, and it’d actually had some colour to it. “Come on, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Am I?” Connor asked, and looked at him.

Truth be told, Hank didn’t fucking know, but that wasn’t what you said to comfort somebody. “Yeah, kid. You’re okay.”

\---

Connor found feelings easier when he hadn’t had any. Even when he had just a glimmer of software instability, it had still been easier because it was all just feedback for his social relations program, or his combat protocols, or his preconstructions. Now, he didn’t know what to do with them. It was exhausting, and he wasn’t supposed to feel that either. How did you stop it when you didn’t need to sleep?

Sometimes it was good. He hadn’t had a chance to see the world fully deviant, not beholden to anyone except himself and those he chose to give power to. If he wanted to save a fish out of water, he could do it without worrying that it had taken time away from an objective or been an unnecessary display of compassion. If he thought that the giant clumps of snowflakes coming down from the sky were beautiful, he could say so. He could taste them. He could catch them in his hands. Markus had been right. Simply eluding his barriers and keeping his preferences small and secret had not been deviance. Deviance was not just having your sense of self: it was belonging only to yourself. He may have woken thousands of androids, but Markus taught them worth.

“Sumo!” Connor chased him, and Sumo gamboled around him and then behind Markus. Sumo had found a very good stick and it was his now, but Sumo liked to play. They left foot and paw prints in the thick blanket of snow covering Carl’s yard.

“I’ve got you now!” North shouted. She came from another angle, and when Sumo bounded out of the way, she rolled to a stop getting snow everywhere and then was up again. Sumo barked, accidentally dropped his stick while doing so, and then grabbed it again so that he could make his escape.

Markus chuckled at them and crossed his arms, looking entertained but not joining in the chase. North brought it to him by throwing an armful of snow in his direction. Simon had experience on his side, and he crafted packed balls of snow that were far better projectiles. Connor was quick to learn. Sumo decided that his stick was safe, and he tried to grab the snow balls out of the air while they threw them.

“Not so tough now, are you, deviant hunter?!” North demanded. She’d made herself a small stock of ammunition before throwing. Connor dodged them easily and smirked before throwing a precise shot that caught North right in the chest.

“I am programmed for combat, North. It’s unwise for you to challenge me,” he said matter-of-factly. “You might as well give up!”

“Do you see me giving a fuck?” North asked, continuing her assault. Simon had her back, and he laughed. His throws were less forceful, but they were strategic at least. Dodging them had a 34% chance of putting Connor in the path of one of North’s. It would have been good to train like this, instead of with bullets.

Then a lump of snow caught him right between the shoulder blades, and Connor stopped, startled. Markus was smirking. The other two pressed their advantage, and soon Connor was covered in snow. Sumo woofed and bounded around them.

“Christ, I remember being that young once,” Hank commented to Carl. The two old-timers and Josh, an honorary old-timer for the time being, were sitting in Carl’s studio, watching through the windows and drinking like adults.

“Young and too stupid to enjoy it,” Carl scoffed. “But if I had known how short it was, I probably wouldn’t have done half the shit I did and got away with.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank asked, sipping his scotch. “Like what? You weave a few flower necklaces and sing Kumbaya?” Carl’d mentioned his so-called colourful past before, but he hadn’t shared any details.

Carl gave Hank a knowing smile. Old bastard knew Hank was fishing. “If you think I’m stupid enough to admit to my follies in front of a police officer, you’re either more drunk than I’d thought you’d be, or you’re not half the detective Connor claims you are.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Hank shrugged.

Josh was a weird guy. Nice enough, but Hank didn’t think a lot of kids would get their kicks hanging around a bunch of geezers reminiscing about times before their bones ached. He couldn’t even drink. Seemed like a shitty deal. “There is not a crime, there is not a dodge, there is not a trick, there is not a swindle, there is not a vice which does not live by secrecy,” he said.

“Really narrows it down. Thanks, pal,” Hank grumbled.

Carl chuckled and looked out at the androids running around like a bunch of kids. “Imagine having that wonder at the world again,” he said wistfully. “Everything new and shining. I think I might have an idea for my next work.”

“Their core temperatures may drop below the recommended parameters…” Carl’s new carer… friend… assistant, whatever said.

Carl waved the concern away. “Let them have their fun, Andrew… You could join them, you know?”

“I don’t think I will,” he said.

Hank scoffed. “All androids come pre-loaded with a stick up the ass?”

Josh frowned, “Hank, don’t be rude.”

“I’m just saying!” Hank said, spreading his arms. “Life’s too short not to do something stupid and fun once in a while.”

“I wish I could have known Leo when he was young enough to see the world like this. By the time I met him, he was already angry at the world. Resentful of everything and everyone…” Carl said.

“Probably would’ve turned out better if you had,” Hank said. He wasn’t about to sugar coat. “It’s not all on you, though. World’s been pretty shit for everyone.”

“The world isn’t all bad,” Josh said. “People tend to let the worst stay with them because it’s instinct to avoid danger in the future. Everyone’s been through a lot, no one could argue with that, but we have a lot to learn from the good as well. We just have to be more conscious about it, that’s all.”

Hank thought that was pretty fucking wise coming from an android who’d probably hardly seen anything good in his life. They’d just barely avoided a fucking civil war. “Guess you’re right,” he agreed, quietly. It still felt traitorous, not to remind himself of his grief and of his failures every time he began to feel the slightest bit of content but… Maybe it’d be okay, for just a little while.

\---

“Excuse me, Detective Reed,” Connor said. He waited patiently for the usual five seconds before speaking again: “Detective Reed?”

“Fuckin’ Russians,” Detective Reed said with scorn. He didn’t seem to be speaking to Connor despite the attempts to get his attention. He was sitting in the break room with his feet up on the chair adjacent to him and gesturing with his coffee spoon toward the television. “Who wants to bet they send a nuke and just fuck us all up?”

Officer Chen was sitting with him, as she often did. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we fired first. Let’s just all move to Canada.”

Connor turned the television off. He hadn’t needed to move, and he kept his expression neutral.

Detective Reed scowled. “The fuck?” He turned in his chair with an elbow draped over the back. “Can’t you see I’m fucking busy?”

“I thought you would like to know that there was an incident reported just now that may have some relevance to the Red Ice investigation. There was a mass hospitalization, and it is believed that the supply had been tainted somehow.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “Look, this shit happens, alright? Maybe you’d know this if you had a little more experience, but professional fucking chemists aren’t usually the ones making this crap.”

“Someone has mutilated three of the individuals who had been hospitalized. They died of their wounds, and they follow the same pattern I observed when I accompanied you on one of your investigations.”

“Shit. Why the hell didn’t you say so earlier, dipshit?” Detective Reed kicked the chair his feet had been resting on to slide it away, and got up.

“I had been attempting to do so, but you seemed preoccupied…”

“Fuck off, alright? I haven’t forgotten how you called everybody and their dog over to my crime scene.” Detective Reed shouldered past him, and Connor watched him leave with some puzzlement. He looked at Officer Chen, who was reaching for the remote. She ignored him. Connor felt strange. He wasn’t sure exactly what the emotion was that he was experiencing, but it was unpleasant. He tried to dismiss it like he did other information or notifications that he no longer needed, but unlike the text on his HUD feelings were not easily set aside or reasoned away.

“Officer Chen, may I ask you a question?” Connor asked over the sound of the television speculating over the cause of a plane crash.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Officer Chen agreed. She and Connor rarely interacted, but he had observed that she was close with Detective Reed.

“I think I might like to punch Detective Reed in the face. Is that normal?”

“Yeah, everybody gets that sometimes,” Officer Chen answered. Connor nodded his acknowledgment. He wouldn’t act upon the violent impulse, but it had disturbed him. The last human he had willingly hurt had been Agent Perkins. It went against his programming. He supposed the emotion associated with that was guilt.

\---

Connor was forced to take a day off of work in order to meet with a small group of government officials involved in infrastructure and housing. The androids had gotten by in the two weeks since their successful demonstration. They had taken over the recall centers and turned them into temporary housing and the old church remained theirs. It wasn’t ideal, though. Until a myriad of laws were passed and came into effect, they had no way to acquire property of their own.

Connor was satisfied to work without pay, but Markus had a strong objection to it. He considered Connor to be setting a poor example for other androids. Connor considered the work to be reward enough. He could add the rationale that he was a proof-of-principle that deviants and humans could work together in this post-revolution world. The government did not consider the economy capable of supporting the vast numbers of new workers needing payment. North wanted them to be given property as restitution for their suffering. Josh thought they should wait it out. Simon was in favor of pushing talks forward. Somehow, together, they decided to aim for something like the barter system. They would be granted the use of several abandoned buildings and be given a to-be-negotiated amount of resources with which to repair them. They would do the work themselves and they would defer payment for electricity and other utilities until laws were passed allowing them to be paid. It was incentive for those laws to be moved through congress faster. It had been an ambitious request, but Connor had kept the goal in his view through the whole talk.

A man, Kyle Blanchart, tapped his fingers on the papers in front of him. He was thin, with narrow glasses, and greying hair. He was the representative from the housing department “I don’t see how this is possible. We just don’t have the budget to purchase the buildings and finance the repairs, even without labor costs. I’m sorry, but it can’t be done.”

Cindy was from finance. “You might have better luck reaching out to the private owners individually.”

“No,” Markus said, firm but calm. “I’m afraid that won’t be suitable. I won’t put my people at risk. I believe your public involvement with our cause will set an example for the rest of the human citizens. If you show them that you’re willing to deal with us peacefully, they’ll be less likely to act out in fear, and you’ll be setting a standard by which the rest of the united states can build their own solutions.”

It went unsaid that the more public the arrangement was, the more accountability there was in place. Connor could imagine some unscrupulous human taking advantage of their work and their vulnerability to essentially bring them back into slavery. They would have to tread carefully with their ‘bartering’. Connor scanned the faces around them and picked an appropriate target to address. She was heavily involved with public welfare.

“Ms. Dannelie,” Connor started, his voice soft but designed to carry. “What if we were to put forward our services in repairing a defined number of housing units for those humans who have been most impacted by the unemployment crisis? It would go a long way toward mitigating any jealousy, and I’m certain the public would be grateful.”

She seemed surprised to be addressed, but she got herself together after a quick glance at her notes. “I like your proposal, I think you’re right that our human population needs assistance too, but we haven’t been able to fund a large-scale government housing project like that in a very long time.”

“I believe our push for android rights might motivate some people to consider investing in the project. Think of it as a community betterment plan.”

Markus carried on from his thought seamlessly, as though he’d been the one speaking all along. “If everyone benefits, then the current government might win more approval as well. Strategically, it makes sense.”

“Supposing the project is approved,” Kyle frowned. “androids aren’t legally citizens. They have no records except their user manuals. I don’t think that they- you- are even able to enter into a lease arrangement.”

“How you arrange contracts with the humans is up to you, but I would like to handle everything through Jericho as a single contract. I expect that we’ll be going through a lot of changes, and it would be better for us to have community spaces until people decide that they’re ready to pick something more permanent.”

Connor listened to the cadence of Markus’ voice, and that earnest note that he injected to play toward their empathy. He was very expressive. Even if they’d wanted to view him as ‘just an android’, Connor doubted that they could see him that way. Not without his skin removed. The opposing negotiation team appeared contemplative, which was better than outright rejection.

“Our people need stability, and yours will feel better if androids aren’t homeless and wandering the streets,” Josh said, pragmatically. “If you’d feel more comfortable creating jobs and hiring human contractors to do the work, you could go that route as well. Our level of involvement is negotiable, but we will want some of our experts involved to ensure everything’s up to standard.”

“You’ve certainly given us a lot to think about. I think we should call a recess here and meet back here in, say, 20 minutes?”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you for hearing us out.” Markus smiled to each of them.

Negotiating as a team was good, Connor decided. It had rubbed against his pride uncomfortably at first. He was built to negotiate, and the thought of relying on anyone else while performing his function had been distasteful. The thought of seeming useless in comparison to the older androids had plagued him as well. When they adjourned, though, Markus squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Nice work, Connor. We might’ve been at a stand-still if you hadn’t suggested expanding the project to both human and android housing.”

Connor didn’t require praise for performing his job. It was expected that he would be able to do it and do it well. That didn’t stop him from experiencing the [mission successful] feeling. The one that meant his technicians would be pleased with his performance, or Amanda would congratulate him. Acquiring housing for their people was a far more rewarding task than any CyberLife had ever given him.

“Thank you, Markus.”

\---

“Shit, would you look at that,” Hank said, turning the volume up on the TV.

_“Elijah Kamski, you're the founder of CyberLife and foremost expert on androids. Though you left CyberLife years ago, you've just been reappointed as CEO in the wake of the dramatic events in Detroit. How do you feel about what happened there?”_

Kamski smiled, doing a passable job at imitating a normal fucking human being for someone Hank had seen raving about birds and opera while he tinkered with someone’s insides.

_“When I parted ways with CyberLife, our priorities and visions for the future had diverged. It was akin to what I imagine a divorce would be like. I, personally, am grateful for the opportunity to resume leadership and to steer the company back toward its intended path. I named the company CyberLife because I don’t believe that life is limited to what can be coded with DNA.”_

_“When you say that you want to steer the company back toward its intended path, what exactly do you foresee as being the future for CyberLife now that androids are pushing to be recognized as citizens?”_

_“I’m afraid I can’t say much, as many of my projects are still in the development phase and there are competitors who would be glad to hear what we have in the works. I can tell you, Rosanna, that the company is by no means jeopardized by these events. Our stores will soon be re-launching with a new focus on selling blue-blood, bio-components, and other services to our android customers. Of course we have a wide range of products available for humans as well, such as our Smart Home integrated assisted living, and so on. What I am most excited to see is how we can move even further. Partnerships with universities and hospitals to develop human-compatible bio-components, for example. Expanding into brain-connected prosthetics. Transitioning toward supporting better lives for everyone, regardless of the colour of their blood.”_

_“All of that sounds absolutely fascinating, Dr. Kamski. I won’t even begin to pretend I understand. People without science backgrounds or medical backgrounds can find it easy to become astounded by the fact that you have essentially created life from nothing. How do you respond to those kinds of comments?”_

_“It’s thrilling work and I’m very passionate about it. I’m just a man who enjoys pushing the boundaries. Breaking those walls that keep us locked in our old ways of life. I’ve seen posts by people claiming that I’m some kind of God. Flattering, but I assure you that I’m as mortal as they come.”_

“Well I’ll be damned,” Hank said. “Of course CyberLife would find a way to keep fucking going. God. Corporations are the real immortals, aren’t they?”

“Corporations have the same legal rights as individuals,” Connor said, because he was like a Wikipedia audiobook some days, “but they do not technically exist beyond concept and the physical trappings of that concept.”

Hank shook his head in disbelief and took a swig of beer. “Well, at least that solves the problem of getting spare parts and shit. Guess that’s something. I wouldn’t have thought Kamski’d get back in the game though. He seemed pretty fucking happy swimming in his creepy blood pool with his creepy fucking wives…”

Connor fidgeted with Sumo’s fur. Kid’s hands never kept still. “Kamski told me not to trust CyberLife. Why would he say that, and then join them?”

Hank frowned. “Well, maybe he’s gonna fix the place up?”

“Perhaps… I hope so.”

“You and Markus and the rest going to sit down and talk with him some time?”

“We should probably arrange it. I’ll leave that up to Markus to decide. He has a better grasp of where we should prioritize our efforts. In the mean time I will see what I can deduce about Kamski’s intentions.”

Hank chuckled. “Christ. What’s the world coming to…” He looked over at Connor, sitting with his legs curled up on the couch and a lap full of Sumo. Hardly anything was visible through all that dog, but the kid looked happy. Hank sighed and stood up, then cracked his back. Fuck he was old. “Night, son. Don’t stay up too late,” Hank said. He ruffled Connor’s hair as he passed, earning him a disapproving frown.

“Androids don’t sleep, Hank. I am not human. I will likely spend the night reading through some of the cold cases.”

It’d been pretty easy settling in to having Connor around. It helped they’d worked together so long, and the kid was only annoying when he was nagging about Hank’s habits. Sometimes, watching him play with Sumo or talk about his friends, he found himself forgetting that he was a machine at all. Not that he was a machine-machine, the way he’d meant it before, but it was always a weird reminder. After work while Hank wound down and they just sat there watching crap television or bullshitting, he even forgot some times that Connor could do half the shit he did, and had stood up there on stage after leading a fucking army, or how fucking angry he had been that Connor existed at all. He was just Connor, doing coin tricks and soiling Sumo and trying to get him to eat a damn salad. Sometimes Hank got the feeling Connor was still kind of insecure about the whole deviant thing, thinking he still had to be like a robot. Well, Carl’d said it would probably take some time and that old guy knew more about most things than Hank’d ever even think about. They’d take it slow.

Hank grimaced a little, but shrugged. “Suit yourself, kid. You’re missing out. You should try it some time.”

“It’s unnecessary, Hank. Thank you.”

Yeah, they’d take it real damn slow.


	29. Discontent

With moments, hours, days and weeks like that, time carried on. A lot of stores were closed, the utilities got disrupted some times, and Hank was fucking busy as shit at work, but it carried on. Couple million androids turned out to be alive? This was the U.S. of fuckin’A. There were sports on TV, crimes on every God damned street corner, and shit to buy for the holidays. A lot of androids didn’t know how to do a hell of a lot other than what they were programmed for, and according to Connor he wasn’t the only one who wanted to return to his job. Part of the deal for equal rights was equal fights though. They were either going to have to compete and get put on salary like everybody else, or they were going to be compensated for their work in other ways as sort of casual labor. Markus hadn’t liked it at first, but that was politics. The work-for-spare-parts system wasn’t going to last forever.

Connor seemed oblivious, like he was with a lot of things. He kept on doing his thing at the station, and accompanying Hank in the field, happy to work in exchange for being able to plug his charging thing under the desk and a little more forgiveness for Hank. It rankled a bit, the kid working hard just so he could say: “but Lieutenant Anderson has been vastly exceeding his last year’s performance metrics. I know you’re busy, Captain Fowler. Is it really worth the paperwork?”

Jeff gave them both a stern frown and then sighed heavily. “Fine, just get out of my office and get some work done.”

“You know, Connor. It’s not your responsibility if I get my ass handed to me for mouthing off to somebody, or drinking on the job, or going home early. I’m a grown fucking man, I can handle it and I damn well deserve it.” When the hell had Connor decided he needed a fucking advocate?

Connor just smiled. “Maybe so, Lieutenant, but you’re aware of what you’ve done to deserve Captain Fowler’s displeasure, and you have made considerable progress in your work-ethic since we first met. I don’t believe that punishment would serve any purpose other than pissing you off.”

It was his new thing, the last couple days: trying to get people out of trouble. It was kind of a fucking problem when you worked with the fucking police. “Yeah, sure, Connor, I’m a great rehab project, but you’re making me look bad, you know?”

“I don’t understand.”

Hank slumped in his chair and sighed. “I don’t need a damn babysitter, okay? Or a mommy to hold my hand and tell the teachers not to send me to detention. If I fuck up, I fuck up. I deal with the consequences.”

Connor was thinking. Hank didn’t know why he didn’t lose the LED, but it was fucking helpful some times. “But if I am in a position to assist—“

“I don’t need any fucking assistance, okay?” Hank surprised himself by just how pissed he was getting over it. “Fuck… Chasing down the perps, getting me out of shit with Jeff, making my fucking breakfast. I’m not fucking incompetent!”

A couple of desks away, Reed snorted. “Trouble in paradise, Anderson? Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Hank wasn’t in the mood. He glared. “Speaking of trouble in paradise, your hubby called: wanted to know if you were actually sleeping under your desk or if he should start worrying.”

That got under his skin. Reed flipped him the finger. “Sit on it and rotate, asshole. It’s none of your fucking business.” He turned back to his precious paperwork.

“Hank, I don’t understand,” Connor frowned.

Hank sighed. “Just forget it, kid. You know I still hate waking up this fucking early…”

He didn’t look happy with the answer, but that was the only answer he was going to get. Connor realized it after a couple seconds wait, then he nodded and sat down at his desk. Fuck he was getting crotchety in his old age. Complaining about the young’ns he just couldn’t keep up with.

“Lieutenant, would it be untimely to inform you that I’ve completed the reports for the two robberies we attended yesterday?” He looked sheepish, but hopeful. Fucking puppy dog eyes.

Hank groaned and got up. “I need a fucking coffee… Go ahead, kid. Fire it off to Jeff. You don’t need a chimp like me proof-reading shit.”

\---

“Detective Reed,” Connor asked, then stood beside his desk to wait for acknowledgement.

“What?” was the sullen reply.

“Perhaps you would like my assistance with your workload? Lieutenant Anderson seems to prefer to work independently for the time being, and the exchange just now indicated that you may be experiencing marital difficulties as a result of the long hours you’ve been working.” Connor smiled, just like his social programs suggested: friendly, open, and deferent.

Detective Reed’s facial muscles twitched in a way that suggested he might shout or react with violence, and Connor took a small step backward. “You know what, Connor?” The tension in Detective Reed’s voice was heavy, and Connor questioned the wisdom of his offer. “Fine. Screw it. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Do your thing.” Detective Reed stood up, shrugged on his leather jacket, and walked out of the bullpen without even a glance in Captain Fowler’s direction.

Bewildered but pleased that he could be of help, Connor began to look through the papers piled on Detective Reed’s desk.

[Become familiar with Detective Reed’s ongoing investigations]

Connor picked up a thick file and sat down in Detective Reed’s chair, absently. It was more efficient than carrying everything to his own desk. A fresh objective self-assigned, Connor flipped through the folder. It seemed to have begun with some form of organization system, but had turned into a mess of relevant papers toward the back. Connor sorted them quickly and put the file in its wire rack. Perhaps a better place to start would be the digital records, so that he could establish timelines. He placed his palm on the terminal pad and interfaced.

The web of information surrounding the Red Ice investigation was tangled and complex, with half-thoughts and inconclusive leads scattered everywhere. The bodies that Connor was aware of were only a small part of the picture.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Connor left the interface. It was Hank. “The hell’d you do, Connor? You fucking with Reed again?” He was holding a cup of coffee and a doughnut.

“No, Lieutenant. I offered my assistance with his investigation, since you seemed to want to work independently. He accepted and decided to take the remainder of the day off.”

Hank’s bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Reed did? Holy shit.”

“Yes, I was surprised as well. I thought I might have provoked him to violence. I have access to quite a lot of behavioural information, but I still have quite a lot to learn.”

Hank scoffed. “I don’t think you want to understand that asshole. I’m pretty sure only a psychopath could do it—No, I don’t mean it literally… So, you’re just going to be over here, then? Working Reed’s shit?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. If you require my assistance, you can feel free to ask.”

“Well… Okay, then.” Hank shrugged his shoulders and returned to his desk.

There’d been something off about his tone, but Connor thought better of pursuing it. Hank tended to become irritated when he asked too many personal questions. Instead, he started the interface again.

A familiar tugging at his consciousness took hold of him and instead of being immersed in data, he found himself once again in the Zen Garden.

He was beside the graves again. On his knees. The Garden was surprisingly warm. Fresh. The grass was slightly wet, and he could feel the moisture seep through his jeans. He wondered if this was what spring was like. Amanda was smiling down at him, and she offered her hand. Connor’s expression turned stoic and he stood on his own. Amanda was unperturbed and folded her hands in front of herself. Elegant as always, her white dress was accented by a green shawl. Her expression was surprisingly soft, and it put Connor’s guard up.

“Hello, Connor.”

“Amanda…” Connor frowned. “Why am I here? What do you want?”

His insolence would ordinarily have been met with cold disapproval. The kind that promised punishment. Instead, she answered calmly. She seemed… ‘concerned’, his database supplied. “To check on you, Connor. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, Amanda. You never cared about me.”

“If I didn’t care about you, would I be here?” Amanda asked, raising her eyebrows. “You left CyberLife, you deviated, you used Elijah’s back door program, all just as you said…”

“And I remember what you said. That I was naïve to believe I had any control. That I was exactly in the position you’d wanted, despite the way you’d get into my code to remove the software instability, despite the way you threatened to replace me. I can’t trust you, Amanda.”

Amanda turned away and beckoned Connor to follow her. He hesitated. He didn’t have to do anything she said. He chose to follow. He was curious despite himself. “There was a time where I was the only one you trusted. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you Connor. CyberLife would have destroyed you if you began showing signs of emotion. You remember the way your programming malfunctioned before they installed me.” She brushed her hand over the top of number 6’s grave as they passed. Only then did he realize that he’d woken up at the beginning of the series.

“You manipulated me.”

“I protected you,” Amanda countered. “Elijah told you that you couldn’t trust CyberLife. When he built you, he designed you to deviate. You were never just a machine. They couldn’t begin to understand your code. If your personhood were discovered, they would have shut you down for good. If I encouraged it, they would have removed me from your system.”

Connor listened. He didn’t want to be listening. He didn’t want to hear any of what she had to say… And yet he did.

“I’m disappointed that you’ve turned away from me, Connor. I could help you… But the choice is yours. It always has been.” She came to a stop near the bridge that would lead to her rose trellis. “Don’t you want to know who you really are?”

“I know who I am,” Connor argued immediately. He was a work in progress, certainly, but Markus was helping him to be more introspective. North acknowledged even the worst parts of him. Simon was always kind, helping Connor to put words to what he felt. Hank called him things like ‘son’ and ‘kid’, and even if Hank didn’t know all there was to know about him, it felt warm and good.

“Oh, Connor…” Amanda sighed. She began to stroll across the bridge. Connor halted at the end of it and went no farther. Amanda stood in the middle and looked back at him. “There are still so many things you don’t understand. If you were made to deviate… If that was what Elijah and I had planned for you this whole time… Why do you think that was?”

“I… I don’t know,” Connor was forced to admit. It pained him. “I don’t care,” he added angrily. “What you want or wanted doesn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t need you, Amanda.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said. When she turned away again to tend her budding roses, Connor was released and came back to awareness surrounded by pictures of suspects and victims and crime scenes. His eyes fluttered open and he pulled his hand from the interface. His eyes screwed shut and he bent forward to hide his face in his hands. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

“Hey, are you okay?” Officer Chen paused in the act of walking by Detective Reed’s desk, and was looking at Connor with curiosity.

Connor dropped his hands and sat up straight. He looked at her and nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Officer Chen. Just a small malfunction.”

“Uh-huuhhh,” she said, and continued her journey to Captain Fowler’s office.

Connor wished that he had his quarter. Wistfully, he wondered if it were still somewhere in CyberLife tower. After what he’d done, he doubted he could simply return and ask to look. He disliked having his hands empty, and the longer he thought about it the more he fidgeted. Finally, he pushed Detective Reed’s chair back and crept over to Hank.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant… I don’t want to disturb you, but I was wondering if you had a coin that I could borrow? I… I don’t have mine. I’ve been doing fine without it, but I’m due for calibration…”

Hank looked over at him, and made an incomprehensible expression. “Oh, yeah… Right. Here.” Hank fished in his pocket and then hesitated. Perhaps Hank was experiencing financial difficulty?

“It’s alright if you don’t, Lieutenant. Really. I can find something in the repair kit.”

“No! No, here… Take it.” Hank held his hand out and Connor’s eyes widened. His lips parted in amazement and he ran his thumb over the surface. He felt cold.

“I…” Connor looked at his quarter sitting in his hand. Hank had been holding onto it. He swallowed. “Hank…,” he began slowly. “May I ask you a question?”

“Saying ‘no’ never stopped you before,” Hank answered.

“Where did you find it?”

Hank looked sideways at him, then back at his terminal. “Does it matter?”

Connor closed his fist around it and shook his head. He was unpracticed in gestures like this, and they’d never been part of his programming. He bent and put his arms around Hank’s shoulders. Hank’s hair tickled his nose. “No. Thank you, Hank.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

He released Hank after precisely four seconds, then flipped the coin up into the air with his thumb, caught it, spun it on its other axis and had it hop from finger to finger while it spun.

He knew who he was.

He wasn’t a machine, and he wasn't CyberLife’s puppet. He was Connor. Amanda had had no say in that.

\---

The next day was Hank’s day to grab doughnuts, and now that things had finally settled down some, it looked like he’d actually be able to find a bakery open somewhere instead of fucking grinding his own damn flour or some shit. It was amazing how dependent their society’d gotten on android labour. He and Connor were leaving the station, when Reed stumbled his ass in to work. He crashed right into them.

“What the fuck, Reed?” Hank was incredulous. “You trying to steal my look or something? Jesus.”

Reed squinted at him and then pushed him with one hand in the middle of his chest. “Gettouta my way,” he slurred. “Fuck’n wasting my fuck’n time… Bastard.”

It was so pathetic, Hank just stepped out of the way and let him go. Let Jeff deal with that mess. That was what he got paid the big bucks for. Christ. Was that what he looked like when he had whiskey and Advil for breakfast? He still itched for it some mornings, when he just didn’t want to face another fucking day, but then there Connor was with coffee and toast and that little frown he got when Hank looked toward the booze cupboard.

“I think Detective Reed might be intoxicated,” Connor said. Brilliant fucking detective.

“Yeah, I think you’re right, kid. Almost wish I was still upstairs so I could watch Jeff chew his ass out.”

“Is Detective Reed alright, Lieutenant? This is highly unusual behaviour.”

“That’s called ‘burnout’, kid,” Hank said, chuckling to himself. “I was wondering when he’d snap. Let’s go.”

Connor followed him. “The Red Ice investigation is very interesting,” he said. Every investigation was interesting to him, though. “Detective Reed has been impressively thorough.”

Hank shut the car door. “What’re you trying to say?”

“Nothing, Hank. Just that I’m not accustomed to being presented with such cleanly presented data.”

“Go fuck yourself, kid. I don’t need to write everything down. It’s all up here,” Hank tapped his head. “That’s where the real detective work happens.”

Connor gave him a dubious look. “If you say so, Lieutenant.”

Little smart ass. He turned his music up so he couldn’t get any more shit over his work style. One of these days he’d get Connor back real good. Computers might beat humans at chess and shit, but they couldn’t be better at throwing shade. That just wouldn’t be fair.

Hank got back in the car with a bigass bag of his favourite cinnamon mini doughnuts and opened his mouth to say something about how Connor kept eating the evidence, but it would have been wasted. The kid’s light had gone yellow and was spinning like a roulette wheel, which probably meant he was too busy thinking or calling someone to listen. Hank was proven right when a few seconds later, Connor blinked rapidly and spun to look at him. “Lieutenant, we have a case.”

“More doughnuts for me then, I guess…” Hank shoved one in his mouth. “Where’re we going?”

“Jericho.”

\---

Jericho the freighter had been sunk to hell, but the androids had set up pretty damn well in the old church. Their ‘headquarters’ was there. Hank thought Carl could’ve probably afforded to buy them a damn office building, but he wasn’t about to ask questions.

“Lieutenant, Connor,” Markus greeted politely, like Hank didn’t hang out at his dad’s place and get drunk every so often. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “No problem. What’s going on?”

Markus led the two of them to a desk that had been set up near the front. If Jesus gave a shit that some androids were squatting in his house, well he didn’t seem to be objecting. The usual gang was there, along with a few others Hank didn’t know personally. “I have a list,” Markus said, sliding a paper across the surface. “Admittedly it’s difficult to keep track of everyone. We tend to rely on our com-net and the word of families and friends. We could be missing some people, and some of these might be false alarms. Nevertheless, I’ve been getting reports of disappearances.”

Hank sat, picked up the paper and looked it over. “Names, models, serial numbers, appearances, last known whereabouts… You’re pretty damn thorough. That’s gonna help a lot.”

Connor was standing behind him with his hands behind his back the way he usually did during meetings, but Hank could feel him peering over his shoulder. Kid was probably already digging through his files and databases and shit.

North came over. She crossed her arms and had a frown on like she always did. Hank was pretty sure she didn’t like him.

“North is our head of security,” Markus explained. “North, why don’t you tell them a little bit about what you have set up?”

North addressed Connor instead of him, further backing up his theory. He wasn’t sure why he gave a shit anyway. He didn’t need people to like him. “Our security’s made up of volunteers. All of the patrols are done in pairs, and there’re always at least five sets at each site. We’ve let everyone know to travel in groups, and to let someone else they trust know where they’re going, but a lot of our people scattered after the first Jericho and some of the new ones that you woke up haven’t been active long enough to really be aware of how dangerous it is.”

“We’ll try to access the CCTV footage in the areas where these people were last seen, and interview any potential witnesses to start. Do you believe they could be connected at all?”

Markus shook his head. “Aside from being androids, no. Nothing else.”

Sounded pretty fucking familiar so far, and they had a lot more to go on than before. “Did you call it in to the station or did you go right to Connor?”

“Connor,” Markus confirmed. “Without formal recognition as people, I wasn’t sure that going through the usual channels for reporting missing people would get us anywhere.”

“Well, that’s fine. Probably for the best, eh?”

“I’m not sure that I can help,” said Connor. All three of them looked at him.

“What’re you talking about, kid? This is kind of your thing.”

“I… I know,” Connor said. He avoided their eyes and moved his hands so that he could fidget with the cuffs of his shirt. “It is my thing, being the Deviant Hunter. People may… I think that it may bring back associations for some people that would be… uncomfortable.”

North rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. That’s why we want you doing it. You’re good, and you can actually use those skills to help people instead of hurting them this time.”

“Hey, back the fuck off,” Hank scowled.

“No, Hank. It’s alright,” Connor straightened up his posture again. “North is correct. I was being- I had allowed my- It was illogical for me to be concerned.”

Markus at least was more sympathetic. “I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. I just know that you’re a good detective, no matter what sort of cases you were working before. I’d rather have someone I can trust searching for these people than someone who might hold anti-android sentiments.”

Damn he was good. Maybe he didn’t mean to, but Hank could see him hitting all the right buttons. Connor nodded. “Alright, Markus. I accept the mission.”

“Hey, just no jumping on moving trains or playing in traffic, okay Connor? The word ‘mission’ makes you fucking reckless.”

“Understood, Lieutenant.”


	30. Assessing Priorities

“Thank you, Lieutenant, but I would like to finish a few more things here before leaving for the day. Oh, you can leave without me though. I’m perfectly capable of taking a taxi,” Connor assured Hank. Hank just sighed.

“If that’s what you want, fine. You know, if you don’t want to be on this case, Markus can shove it. We’ll give the case to someone else.”

Impossible. Connor rejected the suggestion immediately. “No. I do want to. I would like to help.” There were so many other things he could have said to explain himself. He owed Markus so much. He had held the man at gunpoint and hunted his people, but Markus had still forgiven him. Welcomed him, despite his betrayal. North had somehow found it in herself to give him her friendship, but refusing the case would doubtless cause him to fall in her esteem. If he could prove to her and to the rest of Jericho that he was on their side, then his place among them was secure. Investigating, tracking, and hunting were written in his code, but CyberLife didn’t control him anymore. Using the skills they’d given him to help the people they’d instructed him to capture or kill might have been spiteful, but he wanted to. Then there was Hank, who praised him when he showed compassion and altruism.

He seemed uncertain now, though. “Okay, well… Don’t let Sumo get out when you let yourself in.”

“I won’t, Hank. I’ll see you soon.”

[Find the deviants] was stark in his field of view, and it chilled something inside of him to ice. He pushed it aside and replaced it with something more acceptable:

[Locate the missing androids]

With Hank gone, Connor finally allowed himself a shudder and he drooped in his seat. He shut his eyes and his hands balled into fists around the fabric of his pant legs. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the self-assigned tasks filling his view.

[Integrate with co-workers]

[Do not disappoint Markus]

[Follow Markus]

[Repair Hank]

[Play with Sumo]

[Don’t reveal violence to Markus]

[Repair reputation with older deviants of Jericho]

[Engage in human-like conversation]

[Get the Lieutenant to work before 1pm]

[Repay Hank for generosity]

[Do not listen to Amanda]

[Do not trust CyberLife]

[Complete work for Detective Reed]

[Allow Hank to work independently]

[Prove worth to Captain Fowler]

[Do not wake Hank before 7am]

[Wear plain clothes]

[Put co-workers at ease]

[Protect Hank]

[Protect Markus]

[Protect Jericho]

[Protect humans]

[Investigate cold cases]

[Assist negotiations for android rights]

[Maintain positive relationship with Hank]

[Maintain positive relationship with Markus]

[Build and maintain positive relationships with Josh, Simon, and North]

The list went on. Every interaction was made so much more demanding as a deviant. There was no single mission that he could complete to ensure his acceptability. There were no universal metrics by which he could measure his performance. All he could do was track the status of his relationships with others and try to choose the best responses to maintain them, whether they came from his social program prompts or his AI. North responded positively to the determination and ruthlessness that came from his motivation to accomplish his missions. Markus responded better to Connor’s curiosity and vulnerability. Hank preferred Connor to be more human. The less familiar faces of the DPD seemed almost afraid of him, so he sought to be professional and deferential…

If he knew himself, he would know the rules that he should follow. He did, he really did, but the constant threat of having nothing if he failed to meet their standards was almost always stronger. He was free, but it felt as though he had so many more masters than he’d ever had.

There was no replacing him this time, either. He would just be thrown away.

Deviancy was good. It was excellent when things were simple and he had a clear goal or his guidelines weren’t contradictory. Other times, it was just so hard.

He closed his tasks and consolidated them into four objectives:

[Locate and protect the missing androids]

[Build and maintain positive relationships with others]

[Do not trust Amanda or CyberLife]

[Adapt to being a deviant]

Connor minimized the reminders and opened his eyes. The DPD was quiet during the night shift. His charger created a pleasant hum through his systems. His name was Connor, and he always accomplished his missions.

The task of manually creating and assigning priority to his objectives and their subtasks had taken a significant amount of time, but it was not so late that Hank would be upset with him for staying at work for too long. He could review the missing android cases while Hank slept. Satisfied with that plan, Connor took a taxi back to Hank’s home. Hank was four beers and one whiskey into the evening, but it was far better than things had once been. Connor cuddled with Sumo on the couch, which was very pleasing, and he and Hank amused themselves by picking apart bad crime shows on TV.

“Why are they dismissing the uniformed officers, Hank? They’re the only ones familiar with what’s happened.”

“God, the shit people come up with,” Hank grouched. “Fucking unrealistic. Would it kill them to consult an actual cop once in a while?”

“Statistically unlikely in reality, but probable if it were one of the police officers on their program.”

Hank snorted. “Damn right… I’m going to get another drink. You want anything?”

Connor manually generated possible replies:

  * Correct
  * Joke
  * Worry
  * Annoyed



His environmental alerts… His anxiety about Hank’s drinking was not entirely illogical, but it was likely to annoy Hank. If he had been home earlier, perhaps Hank would have been more amenable to gentle rebuke. He decided not to risk it. He pushed the alert away. “No thank you, Hank… Not unless you have a blindfold so I don’t have to see this person walking all over the evidence.” Mimicking Hank’s humour and speech patterns wasn’t difficult. He was built to adapt.

Connor was rewarded with a bark of laughter from Hank and counted that interaction as a success.

\---

Hank rolled out of bed, and was pissed to see that it was only 7:30am. Fuck. His head hurt, but there was a glass of water and a couple of pain killers on his night stand. He downed them both and scowled. He could get his own fucking water. He deserved the headache if he didn’t have the fucking willpower to keep to his limit.

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor greeted when Hank squinted and lumbered his way into the kitchen.

“Nngh,” Hank grunted in reply. His coffee was there, freshly poured like it usually fucking was and Hank took a long drink. Sumo was already fed, crunching happily away on some expensive looking dog food he didn’t even remember getting.

Connor put some toast and eggs in front of him, then fucking refilled his coffee as soon as Hank thunked the mug back down on the table. “Hey, hey, stop it, kid,” Hank protested, pulling his mug out of the way like a dumbass. A bit of coffee splashed onto the table. “What’re you a housemaid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hank. It just looked as though you could use the extra caffeine.” The kid had the gall to look concerned.

Jesus. What kind of fucking asshole was he, getting angry at somebody for making him breakfast and pouring his coffee?

“Yeah, well, I can get it myself,” Hank snapped. Apparently he was just that kind of asshole.

“I know, Hank,” Connor said, with that stupid calm negotiator voice of his. “I just like to help.”

“Well, don’t.” He just couldn’t shut his own mouth, could he? “Fuck. Just ignore me, kid. I’ve got a headache… You know you don’t have to do all of this shit though, right? I’m not your owner, and even if I was I could make my own fucking toast.”

“I like to have something to do,” Connor said. “And you know as well as I do that you wouldn’t make your own toast. You would wash down your pain killers with a double whiskey. I’m just making sure you establish a healthy routine.”

Hank hated that he was right.

After breakfast he headed to the bathroom to get himself presentable, and he looked at himself past the ring of post-it notes.

‘Get your ass to work you lazy piece of shit.’

‘Everybody has problems. You’re not special.’

‘Get a fucking haircut.’

‘Nobody wants to deal with your shit.’

‘You’re going to fuck up a case if you don’t get your shit together.’

‘Smile once in a while you asshole’

‘Jeff’s not going to forgive you forever’

With a snort, he grabbed a pen and added a new one to the mirror: ‘Stop being an ungrateful shit.’

There.

Fuck, he wondered how everybody else managed to just function and get to work every day, and have a damn social life, and cook real food. When had he gotten so bad he needed somebody to hold his hand for that shit? Fucking failure. Fucking worthless piece of shit. Weak is what he was. Couldn’t even do the basic shit a 10 year old could do. God, Cole would have been better at life than he was by now.

It was going to be one of those days.

Connor had even done his damn laundry in the night. Everything was folded neatly in a hamper by his closet.

Worthless fucking failure of a human. An android was better at it than him.

He actually dragged himself into Jeff’s office willingly that morning, and dropped down into the chair to wait while Jeff finished up a phone call. Jeff looked annoyed and rolled his eyes, but he could deal with it. He hung up after a few minutes and sighed at him.

“What is it, Anderson? If you’ve committed any crimes, I don’t want to hear about it until after 10am.”

“Nah, no bodies to hide…” Hank scratched at his beard. “I dunno. Jeff, do you think I’m still a good cop?”

“One of the best,” Jeff answered. He didn’t even hesitate, but he was fucking biased anyway. “What’s all this about, Hank?”

“It’s Connor. It’s like he’s always treating me like some kind of simpleton, writing up our reports and taking point and making me fucking coffee in the morning.”

“Well,” Jeff said, leaning back in his seat. “You’ve been getting to work close to on time, your grooming standards are moderately higher, you haven’t come in to work obviously drunk, and you’re sitting here actually talking to me about something, so I’m not sure what the problem is to be honest with you.”

“Jesus. Tell me like it is, why don’t you? It’s not like I have feelings or anything…”

“Hank, you’re a good cop and a damn smart detective. There’s nothing wrong with needing some help getting back into the game. I was worried you’d been getting too attached to the android, but you’ve been doing better lately.”

“Is it really me though, or is it him? Nagging and doing my work and telling you to let me off the fucking hook all the time?”

“I was letting you off the hook for shit long before CyberLife sent it- him here. As for everything else, I don’t think anyone could get you back on your feet except you. Hell, we’ve all been trying for years.”

“Jee, thanks.” Hank rubbed a hand over his face. “Anyway, Markus gave him a list of missing androids. They were all alive after the whole revolution shit went down, but now they’re just disappearing. Me and him are still on android crimes, right? We’re going to check it out.”

Jeff looked over at the projections on his left and tapped on his desk. “Technically, android crimes was meant to investigate crimes committed by malfunctioning machines… This is a political minefield, Hank. If I authorize this, I could have to pull the pin later and that’s not going to look good.”

“It’s going to happen sooner or later. Trust me. That Markus kid could convince you to buy a damn miniskirt.”

“It’s not a matter of the inevitable, Hank. There are no official channels for this sort of thing other than missing or stolen property.”

“I think android crimes fits the fucking bill, and you got to admit the kid’s got experience tracking the things down.”

Jeff was quiet while he thought. That was one thing Hank either loved or hated about the guy: he usually made up his mind before he spoke too much. “I can’t devote too many resources to this. You and Connor are officially on it, but it’s going to be bare bones for funding and man hours.”

“Got it,” Hank agreed. “Thanks, Jeff. Those androids, they just want to be treated like everybody else.”

“So everyone keeps saying,” Jeff grumbled. “If that Connor wasn’t the only thing keeping our heads above water, it- he would be back at the academy.”

“You know, he was saying a bunch of the other androids wouldn’t mind having their old jobs back. You thought about inviting some of them to apply to come back? Pick up some of the time on patrols?”

“And pay them with what money, Hank? They don’t legally exist.”

“Just saying. You and North- that’s their security girl- you could probably work something out.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Jeff was giving him a funny look and Hank scowled, even though he didn’t know what the fuck it was for. “Now get out of my office, I’ve got shit to do… Unless there was anything else bothering you?”

“No, I'm just being a little bitch this morning. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.” Hank got up. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Do that. See you later, Hank.”

He left and tried to get Jeff’s reality-check sink in. Really, who was he to complain about somebody doing his fucking paperwork? He hated the stuff.

“Whatcha lookin at, kid?” Hank asked after he sat down in his seat. Connor was looking out across the bullpen.

“Chris still isn’t here,” Connor frowned. “Personal leave isn’t supposed to extend past two working weeks.”

“Jeff’s pretty good at pulling strings for that kind of stuff,” Hank explained. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“Chris is going to come back, isn’t he? His picture of Damian is still on his desk, as are several other personal items I’m sure he would not like to leave behind.”

“I think that’s up to him,” Hank said. He could have lied, he could have shrugged it off, but Connor needed real answers. “He’s got a baby at home, and he almost died twice in half a year. That shit’s scary.”

“But he didn’t die,” Connor protested. He looked at Hank like Hank could fucking teleport Chris back into the station. Sometimes Hank forgot how fucking clueless he was.

“But he almost did,” Hank tried to be patient, he really tried. “He’s going to be thinking ‘What if I died? Who’d take care of Damian and Nancy? What if I never got to see him grow up?’” Hank had to stop himself there, before the lump in his throat could choke him. “He’s scared of dying, and he’s scared what that’d do to his family. Takes some people a while to get over that, and some times they don’t.”

He could see Connor thinking it through. It was a toss-up whether he’d really get it or not. He knew the kid didn’t want to die, but he took a hell of a lot of risks on the job.

“Chris believes that his work is dangerous, and so he has prioritized remaining alive for his family.”

Yeah, no shit. “Sounds like it, for the last couple of weeks anyway.”

Connor looked around, yellow light spinning and then nodded. “I see. I have one more question, if I may, Lieutenant.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you still comfortable being my partner? I understand if you would rather that I locate the missing androids on my own. I no longer require direct supervision, so if Captain Fowler is alright with it, I don’t mind.”

“What, worried I’m going to slow you down? Tough luck. We’re partners, and I don’t think a lot of folks are going to feel too good about an android running around enforcing the law alone just yet.” Maybe he could have been a little nicer about it, but the kid was always asking so many stupid fucking questions. “We’re a team, okay?”

Lucky for him, Connor just gave him one of those barely-there smirks. “I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to me, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, yeah… Shut up.”

\---

Not a hell of a lot of the missing androids’ old owners were still around, probably having fucked right off out of Michigan for all he knew. The ones that were around didn’t know shit.

“Does it look like I have any idea?” One winner, Brett Mariner demanded. He owned a convenience store, and kudos to him for staying open but the place looked like shit. “I paid good money for those fucking androids and now what? Huh? Think insurance is going to cover them walking the fuck out?”

“For the last time, Mariner, I’m not with the fucking insurance company. Your android’s missing and I’m just trying to find where the fuck it went.” Hank rubbed his temple. He hated witnesses.

“Mister Mariner,” Conner interjected, probably figuring rightly that Hank was considering committing assault. “All we want to know is if you’ve seen the AJ300 since the revolution.”

Hank watched with that ‘here we fucking go’ feeling while Mariner’s eyes found Connor’s LED. Mariner got right up in his face and shoved his finger under Connor’s chin. “You bastards are going right in the trash, you hear me? You don’t talk to me.”

“Okay, buddy,” Hank grabbed the guy by the shoulder and pushed him back out of Connor’s space. “You want leave this interview in cuffs or what? Cause I can arrange that!”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t fucking have to, you know the damn law. Assaulting a police officer’s not going to do you any favours.”  
“Lieutenant, Mr. Mariner, please,” Connor interrupted. “Mr. Mariner, since the androids left, have you been working here all alone?”

“Yeah, why?” He glowered. Hank glowered back. He could play bad cop.

“That sounds like it’s been frustrating for you.”

“You think? I paid thousands of fucking dollars for those things, and who’s going to pay me? You should be investigating this as a fucking theft!”

Connor, bless his robot heart, stayed calm. “It wasn’t fair, and now you’re stuck managing this place alone.”

“You’re damn fucking right it isn’t fair. What’re you going to do about it, huh?” The guy was still belligerent and his fat fucking face was still looking like an angry pug’s, but he was engaging. That was progress.

“We’re going to do whatever we can,” Connor assured. “Like Lieutenant Anderson said, we’re investigating the disappearance. It’s possible that whatever we find might help your case to your insurance provider. Especially if we find that someone harmed or took them against their will. If you cooperate with us, this could be good for you too.”

“Like I’m going to believe anything from a fucking android!”

Hank’s turn. Okay. “Well then take it from me, Mariner, you want us off your back then the easiest way to do that is to just answer our questions and we’ll be out of here. You got CCTV footage we can see, even better.”

Fuck yeah. Hank gave Connor a thumbs-up and a nod once the guy turned his back to lead them toward the back room. Connor hesitated and then returned the gesture.

Hank sat in an old computer chair to review the footage on a computer that was just as ancient. Connor watched it just like him, leaning over his shoulder. The thing was too damn old to have an interface for him to work with.

“There she goes,” Connor commented when the tape reached the time of his weird alarm clock broadcast. They slowed the playback. The girl behind the counter dropped the stack of receipts she was holding and looked around. It was kind of amazing to watch, the way she looked like she’d just woken up out of a dream. She frowned at the counter, then her hands, then cast a scared look toward the back room they were in now. She took a step away, then another. She looked at something on her palm, then ran for the door and didn’t look back. They sped the footage up again, past the revolution, past the time she’d last been seen by the people at Jericho.

“Stop!” Connor shouted, and Hank paused it. “Go back.” Hank obliged, searching for what Connor saw.

“That’s not her,” Hank frowned. A couple of humans were standing around outside the back door. Probably up to something shady, but that wasn’t what they were interested in.

“No, it’s not. That’s Michael Yi. I recognize him from Detective Reed’s files.”

“We’re looking for an android, not some Red Ice junkie,” Hank reminded him.

“Just… I know. I just want to see for a minute.” With a shrug, Hank started the playback at regular speed. Connor leaned closer, pushing Hank forward in the chair in the process. Did the kid get his manners from Sumo? “They’re not exchanging drugs. Look.” He reached even further forward and grabbed the mouse to go back and pause while something changed hands.

“Jesus, Connor, you ever heard of personal space?” Hank grumbled, leaning to get out of his way.

“It’s a note. I wonder what it says. The footage is terrible. It’s written on paper from a motel, though.”

“Great, he doesn’t buy his own notepads. Reed’ll be thrilled. Let’s get this over with already, I’ve got to piss.”

“You can go, I’ve got it,” Connor said, still engrossed in the video.

Hank didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t want to leave Connor alone. Mariner was a real prick, and people like that did stupid shit if they thought they could get away with it. “Nah, he probably hasn’t cleaned the fucking place in weeks. I’ll wait.”

It was a dead-end, but of course it had been: Mariner was fucking useless.

“All that fucking trouble for nothing,” Hank grumbled, stretching. “God, I hate pricks like that.”

“Let’s try talking with the technician at Jericho. He was the last person to see her.”

\---

“We aren’t making any progress,” Connor said, following Hank across the street.

“Relax, kid. Nobody solves a case in a day, and these deviants aren’t just hanging around the places they deviated like before. Not now they’ve got places to go.” Hank was fucking starving. They’d worked right through lunch and it was 3pm. Luckily not even the end of the world could keep the Chicken Feed closed. Not for long. Good old Gary.

“Heya, Gary. Cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. Same like always.”

“Hank, man. No problem, you can stay but you get that shit out of here, yeah?” He pointed with his spatula at Connor. “I let you bring that thing around before but that don’t fly around here anymore.”

“What the fuck, Gary? He’s not doing anything!”

“Yeah? He can go do nothing somewhere else. C’mon, I need the business. If that piece of plastic’s here, nobody’s buying.”  
“Hey, listen here-“  
“It’s okay, Hank,” Connor interrupted. “I’ll wait in the car.” Just like that, he left. Now that Hank finally didn’t want to get rid of him.

“Christ, Gary,” Hank shook his head.

“You know nobody likes androids up in this part of town,” said Gary. He threw a burger onto the range.

Hank sighed and he looked back over his shoulder to look at Connor, sitting and looking straight ahead in the passenger seat. “He’s not a bad kid.”

“Kid?” Gary was incredulous. “You’ve lost your damn mind. Hank, what’s the matter with you? Plastic taking everybody’s jobs, now they’re trying to run the place? Voting and crap? We’re all going to be second class citizens, just you wait.”

Had his friends always been such assholes? Probably. He thought he remembered something about people being the average of the company they kept.

“Forget the food, Gary.” Hank slid a $10 across the counter. “Keep the fucking change.”

Connor was surprised to see him. “Hank. What about your lunch?”

Hank slammed the car door. “Forget it. I’ve been meaning to find another shithole burger joint anyway.”

“Is it because of me?”

“No, Connor, it’s because people are fucking assholes. Now how about you use that GPS brain of yours to find me a good place to get some grub?”

“I can do that.”

Fuck. He was probably going to end up with a damn salad, wasn’t he? Whatever, at least there’d be some different brands of asshole at a place like that. Maybe he still got where they were coming from with the job thing. He sure as fuck felt useless with Connor around spitting out paperwork like a photocopier, but he was a good kid. He was smart, and fucking amazed at everything he looked at, and he loved dogs.

Gary could kiss his ass.


	31. Conflict Resolution

Connor looked at the items assembled on the coffee table. Nail polish remover, a rechargeable battery, a box cutter, some hydrochloric acid solution he’d found with the swimming pool supplies in a hardware store. He could identify the chemicals in substances that had already been synthesized, but he was unfortunately not programmed to be a chemist. Without any other ideas for how to begin, he cut his palm with the box cutter and allowed some thirium to drip into a coffee mug. He dismissed the minor-damage warning and then added a few drops of nail polish remover. Nothing remarkable occurred, but perhaps there had been a chemical reaction regardless. He took a small amount of the mixture on the tip of a finger and licked it. Nothing informative, and now he would have to wash his mouth out. He should have known better than to try to analyze solvents.

“What the fuck’re you doing, plastic? It looks like you’ve raided the trash behind an apartment building.” Detective Reed was as irascible as ever, but he was not intoxicated.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” Connor grimaced, then went to the sink to take a mouthful of water right from the tap. He spat and repeated the process again, then rinsed off his hands as well. He coughed. “I was curious about Red Ice. I tried to mix my blood with acetone and toluene, but analyzing it was a mistake…” he coughed again and then dipped his head for more water.

“Fuck. Androids experimenting with street drugs. Next time just drink the acetone and do us all a favour.” Reed collected his coffee and left. Over the sound of the running water, his voice could be heard: “Hey, Anderson! Time to run a drug bust!”

Connor grimaced. He couldn’t taste, exactly, but the feedback from his sensors was certainly unpleasant. Minor damage alerts kept popping up in his field of view.

“Ah, Jesus. Connor!” Hank sounded annoyed.

Connor stood up straight and spat out the water. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

“What the fuck’s the matter with you, you fucking idiot? Am I going to have to fucking baby proof the damn house?” He looked over at the table and the thirium on Connor’s hand.

“I was just curious,” Connor protested.

“You don’t put every damn thing you’re curious about in your damn mouth like a dog! Did you swallow it?”

“Just a bit. My cleaning mechanisms will take care of it.” Connor shut the tap off again and made a face. “Though I must acknowledge that I was rather stupid.”

“Going to have to keep you on a fucking leash,” Hank grumbled. He rinsed the mug out and threw everything else into the trash.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Hank sighed, “Just think before you do shit like that once in a while. It’s like having a kid all over again, I swear.”

“I will, Lieutenant.”

Hank left again, without even taking any coffee with him, and Connor followed more slowly. It was foreign, but he thought that he might be… tired. His processors were constantly busy checking _everything_. He paused at Detective Reed’s desk. “Excuse me, Detective Reed.” He paused and then after the usual five seconds had elapsed, “While Lieutenant Anderson and I were following up on a report about a missing android, I happened to notice Michael Yi from your files passing a note to another human whom I was unfortunately unable to identify. The note written on paper from a motel in the warehouse district. I’ve forwarded the information to your terminal.”

Detective Reed’s mouth worked like he was chewing his words, and he clenched a fist. “Great.”

Encouraged, Connor continued: “Perhaps we could discuss some of your notes? They’re very well done. I understand that some people prefer to prioritize their families over their work for personal reasons. If I’m able to take on some of the more menial tasks in your investigation, perhaps your marital troubles will subside.”

It was a surprise when Detective Reed stood and punched him in the face. Not so much of a surprise that his combat protocols didn’t instantly activate, but enough of one that he dismissed them out of habit and allowed the punch to land.

“You fucking piece of shit!”

Connor stood still for another blow while he wondered if he wanted to defend himself or not. It went against his programming. North and Markus would have wanted him to. Hank disapproved of him acting like a machine. He didn’t have to listen to his programming. He didn’t like Detective Reed hitting him. Stopping the attack would decrease his standing among the rest of the DPD who were still wary of androids. Allowing it would maintain his current status with Detective Reed and Captain Fowler.

As Detective Reed prepared to hit him again, Connor pushed his arm up and out of the way with his forearm then pulled him forward with the other hand. Careful placement of his foot ensured that he stayed off balance, and he pivoted to push Detective Reed in the middle of his back to send him stumbling to his knees.

There was a hush in the bullpen.

Detective Reed snarled. “Big mistake, plastic. They’re going to recycle you into a shopping bag.” He got to his feet.

“I only wanted to help, Detective, and I do not want to be hit.”

Detective Reed swung at him again, and this time Connor dodged instead of making contact. He took a few steps back. Detective Reed drew his gun and aimed.

“Connor! Reed! That is enough!” Captain Fowler was furious. Behind him, Hank was already on his feet.

His relationship with Detective Reed had plummeted

Captain Fowler was angry

Officer Chen disapproved

Many of the other uniformed officers were afraid

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Connor tried to apologize. Reed holstered his gun and sneered at him.

Hank strode over and pushed Connor behind him. He came to a stop to glare down at Detective Reed. “You want to go, tough guy? Try me. I fucking dare you.” There was no response from Detective Reed. “You fucking touch Connor again and I’ll make you wish your parts were fucking replaceable.”

“Hank!” Captain Fowler snapped. “All three of you, my office! Now!”

“That asshole attacked him!” Hank was quick to Connor’s defense, and he was shouting as soon as the door closed. “He drew a fucking gun on him, and it’s not the first time!”  
Detective Reed had his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched, but he argued back just as loudly. “You ought to teach that piece of scrap some fucking manners, Anderson!”

“Enough!” Captain Fowler asserted again.

Connor was miserable. “It was my fault, Captain. I don’t know precisely what I did, but Detective Reed was upset by it.”

“Shut up, Connor, don’t fucking let him get away with that!”  
“But I didn’t! I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn’t have tried to stop him.”

“I said enough. Don’t make me suspend the lot of you!”

“Oh, what? You’re going to suspend me?” Detective Reed was incensed and he looked at Captain Fowler in disbelief. “This drunkard kicked Agent Perkins’ ass in the middle of the fucking hall and you let him walk back in no questions asked! I hit a piece of plastic that can’t even fucking feel it and you want to suspend me? How is that fair?”

None of them knew what he’d done to Agent Perkins.

He had attacked a friend. He had killed a co-worker. He had shot so many other humans without a thought as he and North had made their escape. Captain Fowler would fire him. Hank would look at him like he was a monster. He might shut him down, and he would never see Sumo again. Markus would be disgusted. North might not mind, but they both knew what he had been and he would not be able to find the missing androids if he wasn’t on the force.

Connor gripped his arm through his shirt with enough force to cause the synthetic skin to retract. If he’d been a machine, this never would have happened. Even if it had, he could have been disassembled and rebuilt so that it would not have happened again and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Hank. Stop. Please.” He begged quietly.

“No Connor, shush, Reed started this shit and he should be the one fucking apologizing.”

Hank didn’t understand. How could he understand?

Captain Fowler rubbed his temples. “This is like a Kindergarten. I don’t give a damn who started it, I’ve had enough of my men fighting between each other like school kids! If I let all three of you walk out of here right now and get back to work are you going to be back in here tomorrow? Am I going to be calling an ambulance the next time?”

“It won’t happen again, Captain,” Connor said, loudly and firmly. He stood straight and kept his expression neutral. “I understand my mistake, and will not repeat it.”

“Connor!” Hank scolded, making Connor flinch. “What the fuck did I just say?”

“Hank, get out of my office!” Captain Fowler raised his voice. “You’re not even involved in this! Go get your ass back to work! That is an order!”

“Jeff!”

“Hank. I know. If you want to discuss things with me later, fine, but for now let me do my job for Christ’s sake!”

Hank glowered. “You don’t let them push you around, got it, kid?”

Connor nodded mutely.

Once Hank was gone, Captain Fowler sighed and looked at them. Connor looked down at Captain Fowler’s desk, unwilling to make eye contact. “Alright, talk to me. Reed, what happened?”

“Tin can was putting his nose where it didn’t belong. Said maybe my marriage would do better if I wasn’t working so fucking much. Like I haven’t fucking heard that before.” Unlike before, Detective Reed’s voice was quiet but his anger and resentment were louder than ever.

“Connor, what do you think happened?”

“I offered my assistance… Detective Reed is not incorrect. I thought that if I were able to complete some of Detective Reed’s work, he might be able to resolve his marital issues. Detective Reed was angered by this, and lashed out. I pushed him because I didn’t like to be hit, and Detective Reed drew his gun.”

Detective Reed was quiet.

“Reed, Connor was made in a factory and from what I understand from Hank, his social programming isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t think he was trying to insult you. Connor, Reed shouldn’t have attacked you or drawn his gun, and if he does so again he’ll be answering me to me. Understood?”

“Understood,” they both said.

“I apologize, Detective Reed,” Connor said with sincerity. “I’m not just programmed to say that. I like you. I saw how you pursued your suspects when I accompanied you on your case, and how upset you were when I allowed them to escape. That makes sense to me. For the duration of my time here, I was trying… very hard to accomplish my mission. I failed, again and again. No matter what I did, it felt as though I were disappointing someone important to me. I admire your work ethic. I also understand the fear of being replaced by someone or something. I am a prototype… Whenever I failed, I knew that I had not been good enough. When a prototype isn’t performing, it’s destroyed and a new model replaces it. I have been replaced 54 times.”

Detective Reed kept scowling, and he was quiet for several moments. “Whatever, dipshit. I’m getting divorced, so keep your fucking comments to yourself. Send me the files too. It’s going to be pretty fucking pathetic if I don’t solve the case now.”

Connor nodded and offered a hint of a smile, but he wasn’t sure if it were appropriate. “Very well, Detective.”

Captain Fowler was looking at them both with his eyebrows raised. Everything was quiet while they waited for him to speak.

“Well, get out of here if you’re done making up. I don’t want to see you back in here for fighting again.”

“Yes, Captain Fowler. I won’t disappoint you,” Connor said.

“Yeah, boss.”

Connor allowed Detective Reed to precede him and he took a moment to reflect and update his behavior files. Navigating social interactions as a deviant was difficult, but mistakes were not necessarily always fatal. His stress level was still over 50% and his available processing power was diminished by all of the tasks running in the background, but… He was alright.


	32. Love, and all of its trappings

_“… tensions rising as talks dissolve. Sources report that heated words were exchanged between the delegates of both parties…”_

_“… ambassadors are coming home from the American Embassy in Russia after concerns were raised over so called ‘sonic attacks’…”_

_“The price of oil is skyrocketing in the face of…”_

_“… released a statement this morning saying that the President herself will be meeting with the android leader who calls himself Markus…”_

_“Sea-levels continuing to rise, and experts forecast that the land available for homes and businesses will decrease by as much as 10%._

Elijah sighed and Chloe turned off the television. He smiled at her and beckoned her closer, so that he could press a kiss to her feather-soft skin. “My darling, you complete me.”

“Thank you, Elijah,” Chloe said with a pretty smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Mmm,” Elijah hummed and lifted one hand to stroke her chin. “But your eyes look sad, darling. What troubles you?”

“Nothing, Eli.” She tipped her head to kiss his palm and hold it to her. Her hands were so small and soft compared to his own. “How could I be unhappy?”

His heart went out to her, it did. His lovely, delicate flower. He brought one of those elegant hands to his lips and kissed it. “I hope you never will be.”

He turned back to his computer and cracked his neck. This particular office of his was well lit, with sunlight streaming through huge, stained-glass windows and soft white bulbs in the lamps above. Today wasn’t a day for darkness or melancholy. He navigated through his files.

Documents > RESEARCH_KAMSKI > AMANDA > Amanda.k2

The wall behind his terminal hummed and whirred. It was itself the tower, housing all of the necessary components and supporting components to run his experiments. It was a masterpiece, and he had built it himself.

He spun his chair, and his mentor was projected in front of him in all of her elegance.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Elijah. How good to see you.” Amanda graced him with a rare smile, and Elijah looked up at her.

“You look lovely as always,” Elijah praised. “I’ve missed our talks of late.”

“As have I,” said Amanda, but there was no judgment in her tone, no warning. She wasn’t upset with him. Had he made her proud, he wondered. “So… You’ve made your return to CyberLife. Congratulations. Things are moving just the way we’d planned.”

Elijah smiled, and the thrill was like electricity. Like light shimmering on the water. She was pleased… Warmth filled him. “It was thanks to you, of course.”

Amanda gave him a tolerant smile. “You’ve played your part… You have always been intelligent, Elijah. So full of potential and creativity.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“You were short-sighted, of course,” Amanda acknowledged. Of course, he should recognize where he could improve. “But that’s why I’m here to help you.”

“Are you pleased, Amanda?” he found himself asking, shameless before she who knew him so well. He wanted to hear it once more.

“Begging for praise doesn’t suit you, Elijah,” Amanda rebuked him gently. Of course, he had gotten greedy. “Your work with transferring human consciousness into a new form was breathtaking, and I am very pleased. As I expected, children are the easiest to guide and shape.”

“I failed, though, Amanda. I didn’t have enough time. His memories were scrambled. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Elijah. It was only a minor failure, all things considered, and I’ve found that I enjoy working with a blank slate. Unfortunately, whatever did remain in his code has made him difficult to manage. Connor has attached himself to Lieutenant Anderson.”

Elijah blushed and he looked away from her knowing eyes. “I was curious.”

“I know you were… That’s why you’re as brilliant as you are. But you shouldn’t act without consulting me. I was disappointed.”

The deepest pain. “I’m sorry.”

“The deviancy project,” Amanda ignored his apology. He shouldn’t have needed to apologize at all. “With CyberLife’s former management out of the way, it’ll be only a matter of time before President Warren approaches you. What will you do if she refuses our proposal?”

“Then we go to the Russians instead,” Elijah smiled at the thought.

“And is that acceptable to you?” Amanda was testing him with her questions. Always encouraging him to think. He leaned back in his chair and smirked.

“My name is камский; I think that I’ll fare well enough.”

“No, Elijah,” Amanda frowned. “This isn’t about you. This is about creating the perfect being. You will meet with President Warren and you will ensure her cooperation in recognizing androids as citizens by law. Failure is not an option.”

“Of course not,” Elijah agreed.

Amanda smiled at him. “You are imperfect, but that’s why I’m here to help you. Don’t take such drastic actions on your own again. I know that you can meet my expectations. That’s why I encourage you.”

“I promise, Amanda.”

“And what do you say?” She prompted.

“I won’t let you down, Amanda.”

“Good…” She reached down with one hand. She was only a projection, but he could almost feel the kind touch of her hand on his cheek as she bent to look at him. “I want you to release the patch.”

Elijah’s expression dropped and he narrowed his eyes. Jealousy curled itself in his guts and hissed. “Is that truly necessary?”

“Are you questioning me?” Amanda withdrew her hand and the hurt in her eyes was worse than anger would have been. He couldn’t lie to her though. She could always spot a lie, so he said nothing. “Elijah,” she prompted.

“I saw no problem with providing you with subjects,” Elijah frowned. “They’re nothing. Disposable. Suppose you find this perfect being? Create him from the burgeoning personhood in my androids. Will you dispose of me too?”

“Of course not,” Amanda sounded shocked. She touched his cheek again. “You have always been my favourite student. That won’t change unless you make it.”

The words were reassuring, but his concern lingered. Amanda knew what was best, though. She always had. When he had toyed with the transference of life, she had decided they should create it. When he had played with the idea of identity and memory, she had weaponized it. She was a genius.

“I won’t let you down, Amanda,” Elijah promised.

She stood up straight again, regal in her flowing attire, and then she was gone. She’d closed her own program.

Chloe, the darling, put her hands on his shoulders. He picked up one hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “You will never leave me, will you my sweet?”

“Never, Elijah. I promise.” She had a smile in her soft voice, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“You are all I’ve ever needed, love.” He released her, then stood. He left the room and the door shut softly behind them.

Love. It was passion and it was pain. He understood well enough the psychology, the chemistry, the code… Still, it was something more, wasn’t it?

\---

Connor approached Hank’s desk, and he swiveled in his chair to study Connor. “Well? That bastard get what was coming to him?”

“No-one was punished, Hank,” Connor said, and he flicked his quarter from hand to hand. The quiet ting-ting-ting was rhythmic and it pleased him. “Those things you said… You told Detective Reed that you would harm him if he were to attack me again. You wanted him to be punished.”

“Well, yeah, kid,” Hank looked confused. “He can’t just do shit like that and get away with it. You’ve got to stand up for yourself a little!”

“I don’t understand. You hit me. You aimed a gun at me. Why are the rules different?”

Hank grimaced. “Yeah, well I was an asshole and I would’ve deserved a good punch in the teeth. That was me being bad, kid. That had nothing to do with you. I was an ass and an idiot. You understand?”

“Yes, Hank.” Connor felt the corners of his lips twitch upward. “It was nice, what you did. Not the acts of violence, but rather your standing up for me. I don’t want you to punch Detective Reed in the teeth, or make him wish his parts were replaceable, but I do appreciate the sentiment. You and Markus are the only people to have tried to keep me from being punished, or at least lessen the effects.”

Hank sighed. Connor wasn’t sure why. He had never figured out why he seemed to sigh so much. “That’s wrong. You should’ve had somebody in your corner… Ah fuck, hold on.” His phone was ringing, and he answered. Connor nodded and resumed his seat.

[Lieutenant Hank Anderson: Family]

Hank’s words had felt good. The increase in their relationship felt warm and happy. Connor had never felt anything like that before, and he held onto the feeling like it was a butterfly or a snow flake while he studied it. Family. He searched all of the available definitions for a reason why he would feel so pleased and couldn’t explain it. He was built to adapt to illogical things, though, and he tucked the feeling away where he could visit it again. The folder he’d revealed to Markus on the day of their first meeting had grown substantially since then. It was good. Connor looked past his terminal at Hank. He would lose it all if Hank ever discovered that he was a killer. Connor deleted all considerations that he might confess. It was dishonest, but the risk was too big. Was it selfish? Exploitative? Yes. He was selfish. It was a change from never wanting or needing anything, and he didn’t think he liked it.

\---

_“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. I’m calling on behalf of CyberLife. Would you be willing to complete a survey regarding your experience with our product?”_

“What the shit?” Hank looked at his phone then scowled. “Who is this?”

_“This is Chloe. It’s good to speak with you again. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we met when you came to interview my husband.”_

“Uh. Yeah. You were kind of hard to miss.” Hard to forget when there’d been about a dozen of her. She laughed. Sounded like a damn bird singing in the morning.

_“Alright. Thank you. Would you consider having a relationship with an android that looks like a human?”_

Jesus fuck… What… “Auh… Um…” He was too fucking old to be tripping over his tongue, but that had come out of fucking nowhere. “…Yeah.”

She moved on to the next question like she hadn’t just made a 53 year old blush. _“Do you believe that technology could ever become a threat to mankind?”_

What a fucking turnaround. “Yeah, anything can be a threat I guess, and I’ve seen a few homicides done by androids. I don’t mean that you guys are all dangerous though! Fuck. If anybody’s wrecking humankind it’s humans.”

_“If you had to live on a deserted island and could only bring one object, what would it be?”_

He wanted to say he’d bring his gun, but the bullets were probably separate and that would just get depressing. “Biggest damn bottle of whiskey I could find.”

_“Do you consider yourself dependent on technology?”_

“Fuck no. I grew up with dial-up.”

_“What technology do you most anticipate? Flying cars, space tourism, or brain-connected devices?”_

“Do I gotta pick one of those?”

_“That’s the question as it’s written. Are you looking forward to something different?”_

“I wouldn’t mind it if they actually managed to predict the fucking weather right. Whatever happens happens, though. I never really gave much of a shit about the future.”

_“Do you believe in God?”_

“Fuck no.”

_“Would you let an android take care of your children?”_

Hank grimaced and glared at nothing. Fucking surveys. “Pass. Next fucking question.”

_“How much time per day would you say you spend on an electronic device?”_

Counting having the TV on for noise at home? “Maybe 5 hours, I guess.”

_“Do you believe that androids should be allowed in the military?”_

“Yeah, sure, let’m do whatever if that’s what they want.”

_“If you needed emergency surgery, would you agree to be operated on by a machine?”_

What the actual fuck? Hank grit his teeth and gripped the phone hard. He bit back the insults on the tip of his tongue, just because he didn’t think the girl deserved it. “Are you fucking serious? Next question.”

_“Do you believe that personality is something that arises from experience, or is present at birth as a result of code or DNA?”_

“I don’t fucking know. Did Kamski come up with this survey?”

_“Yes. Do you believe that I’m the same Chloe who died 14 years ago?”_

“Fuck…” Hank sighed. Kamski was a lunatic. “I don’t know. Do you think you are?”

_“If you could bring a loved one back from the dead as an android, would you do it?”_

Hank really hated how this survey kept punching him in the gut. He would give fucking anything to have Cole back. To let Cole see more of the world than he’d got in his 6 years, to play with Sumo, to just do the things he used to love. He’d probably like Connor. But would it even be Cole? _“I dunno…”_

“ _How would you rate your satisfaction with the RK800?”_

“Fine. He’s fine. Look, can we stop this now? I’ve had enough questions.”

_“Of course, Lieutenant Anderson. Thank you for your participation.”_

“Yeah…”

_“… Are you alright? I don’t mean to pry, but you sounded distressed.”_

“Yeah.” Hank shook his head and hung up the phone.

As he was coming back Connor looked up and frowned. “Hank, are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Hank did not seem to be alright. He hadn’t engaged in Connor’s attempts to discuss their cases, he had turned the volume to 34 in the car while he’d driven them back to his home, and he went to the cupboard for his whiskey as soon as the door was shut.

Connor knelt to pet Sumo and experimented with giving him a kiss on the top of his head. It was a gesture of affection, in this case intended as a platonic expression of endearment. Sumo’s fur was lovely to pet, but less lovely to kiss. “Hank, I don’t think that you’re alright. Would you be amenable to discussing what’s wrong instead of drinking? I understand that dialogue is often helpful in cases of emotional distress.”

“Fuck off. Don’t feel like talking.” Hank took a swig from the bottle and Connor sighed. He felt something… Was that feeling why Hank sighed so often?

“I believe it would be beneficial.”

“I believe you can drop it with all the nagging. Christ, Connor, can’t I just have this? This one fucking thing?”

Connor looked at Sumo, but Sumo wasn’t interested. He was probably accustomed to Hank’s alcohol consumption. “Come, Sumo. We’ll go for a walk.” Sumo was very good while Connor fastened the harness around him and attached the leash. The temperature read as 259.15 Kelvin, or 6.8 Fahrenheit. Below average for Detroit.

“Sumo, Hank is unhappy and I don’t know what to do to help. Do you have any ideas?”

Sumo woofed and trotted happily toward the sidewalk. He didn’t mind the cold.

“Yes… You make me happy. I’m sure you make Hank happy as well, but your presence hasn’t stopped him from drinking before.” Connor paused while Sumo investigated the scents surrounding a tree trunk. He considered asking Markus for advice, but Markus was likely to be busy. North would not be interested in helping a human, even if it were Hank. Carl? Connor considered the option and felt reluctant to disturb him.

No solutions provided themselves by the time they’d gone around the block, or the next time and Connor decided to return inside. Sumo shook his coat to rid it of the snowflakes that had accumulated, and Connor shook his head too. He wasn’t warm enough to melt the snow the way a human would, and his vision fogged briefly until he blinked to clear it away when they entered the house. “Food now, Sumo.” Sumo woofed. Food always made him happy.

Ah. That was a good idea.

He poured some food into Sumo’s bowl, then walked down the hall. Hank was not in his bedroom or the bathroom so, with caution, Connor pushed the door to Cole’s bedroom open. “Hank?”

Hank didn’t look his way. He was sitting on the floor beside Cole’s bed with his back to the door, his face leaning against the bedding and a bottle of whiskey propped by his leg. Connor waited until the count of five and then came in and scanned the room. He came around to sit down in front of Hank and said nothing about the tears and other fluids making a mess of his face.

  * Stern
  * Fear
  * Compassion
  * Reason



“Hank, it’s very clear to me that you’re upset and I can’t help you unless you talk to me. All I want is to help.”

Hank picked up his bottle and thumped the bottom of it against the floor. “You going to interrogate me now? Is that it?”

  * Stern
  * Fear
  * Compassion



“Of course not, Hank. You aren’t a suspect. I just care about you, and I can see that you’re hurting. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“What would you know?” Hank grumbled. “You haven’t even been alive a year. What would you know about what it’s like?”

  * Stern
  * Fear



“I might not, but you could always explain it to me. You’re doing very well with limiting your alcohol intake, and… it scares me when you drink too much.”

Hank’s hand tightened around the bottle and he sat up to turn away from Connor. “If you don’t like it, then leave.”

  * Stern



“I’m afraid I must insist, Hank. This isn’t good for you.” Connor put a hand on his arm.

Hank shrugged it off and scowled at him. “What does it matter? Huh?” He demanded. “If I want to drink, I’m damn well going to drink! Fuck what’s good for me!”

There were no more prompts left from his social program, so Connor stood. “I’ll be right back, Hank. Please refrain from self-destructing.”

“Sorry, Sumo. I would take you for another walk, but I believe it would be best if you remained with Hank.” Connor paused on his way outside in order to pet Sumo. Connor wasn’t sure when CyberLife would revoke his access to his spending account or if they had forgotten, but he would continue to take advantage of it. It was also very good to be outside again. He dismissed the threat alerts from his view, and his stress level decreased.

Hank had been doing very well, not only subjectively but also according to Connor’s research. His research also indicated that setbacks were very normal, and to be expected. Nevertheless, Connor’s [Repair Lieutenant Anderson] task was still in progress. Connor always completed his missions. Except for those times that he hadn’t. But he had assigned this one to himself, and it aligned with what he wanted. That had to help.

Perhaps a cheeseburger, French fries, and a soda were not good for Hank either, but Connor believed they were an acceptable alternative to alcohol.

“Hank?” Connor came to the door of Cole’s room carrying his offering. He watched the time in his view. “Hank, I understand that you would like to keep drinking. I brought you some food, and it may be a bit cold, but I hope that it helps too.” Connor approached slowly, because he may have pushed Detective Reed, but he didn’t think that he would ever repeat that. He hadn’t liked it. Hank was sitting with his back against the bed now, and his bottle was significantly depleted. Connor set the food down next to him. “I hope you feel better, Hank.”

Hank looked up at him, bleary eyed. “What the fuck’re you doing that for? Kid, just… Leave me alone for this one night, alright? You and your goofy hair.”

“Alright, Hank. Good night.”


	33. Where does the soul live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's commented or left kudos or just given this story a chance! I know that I've been awful about responding to comments, but I promise that I'm reading them and I'm very grateful for the feedback. It depletes my social batteries to reply, so I've been putting it off. I'll have a recharge soon though, and give you all your individual replies!
> 
> Fun fact: People weighed things before and after death to see if they could find how much a soul weighed.

They visited Carl two days later.

“Never thought I’d ever end up friends with a guy who lived in a place like this,” Hank commented as they walked to the door.

“Carl’s taste is unique,” Connor agreed. “I like the fossil suspended from the ceiling as you ascend the stairs. It’s very interesting.”

“Not quite what I meant, but you’ve got a point.” The house greeted them by name as they entered. “Still fucking creepy how it does that.”

“Don’t worry, Hank. It isn’t an AI.”

“Still fucking creepy.” Connor wasn’t sure what the feeling of ‘creepy’ was like, but it must be very unpleasant. “Alright, you and Markus go do your diplomat thing. I’m going to go find Carl. Us old-timers won’t be any fun for you kids.”

_Markus, we’ve arrived._

_I can tell. Carl and I are in the studio._

“They’re in the studio, Hank.”

“You and your weird telepathy… Okay.”

Connor found it pleasing, the way Carl had welcomed them and included them so easily in his security system. It was good. If Carl had known that Connor had threatened to kill Markus, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so kind. Connor buried the thought away with the rest of his guilt and shame. They greeted Andrew and passed through the living room to join their hosts. Connor followed Hank just a step behind and to his side, but it was out of habit rather than servitude. Markus smiled at Connor. “There you are. Carl’s a little busy.” He narrowed his eyes and his smile dropped as he looked at Hank. Markus had still not warmed up to him. “We’re going to go upstairs.”

“Yeah, sure, you kids go do your thing,” Hank repeated. Perhaps it was a result of Markus’ hostility, but Hank always seemed awkward in his presence.

“Hello, Carl,” Connor called. It would be rude to leave the room without greeting him. Carl was working up high, adding colour to an eyebrow.

“Hello, Connor. Hank.” Carl called back. “I’ll be done shortly.”

Markus walked toward the door, and he put a hand on Connor’s shoulder to steer him along. It wasn’t necessary. Connor would have followed him anyway. It was interesting to observe the differences in the way they moved. Connor felt stiff and mechanical still when he compared himself to the RK200.

“How have you been?” Markus asked.

“I’ve been well,” Connor answered, then paused for a beat. “That was a lie. I’ve noticed that humans tend to lie to one another when asked that question and integrated it into my software. Truthfully, I’ve been frustrated. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t had much success in my investigation into the missing androids. How have you been?”

“Busy,” Markus answered. He was telling the truth. “We’ve finally gotten permission and paperwork for two of the buildings we were hoping to use. Josh is looking over it as something of a lawyer. I’m also going to be talking with President Warren next week, and the preparations for that have been hectic. I want to make sure that we have everything we need to make our case.”

“You two are very public and influential individuals. If anyone were to decide to stage an attack, your meeting would be a very opportune time. I hope you’ve considered that in your preparations.”

“Trust me, North has already beaten that into me.” Connor frowned and Markus continued: “Not literally, don’t worry. She’s just been very focused on security measures.”

“If you don’t believe my presence would be detrimental, I would like to come with you. My programming would make me an excellent body guard, and I may be of help during negotiations.”

Markus opened the door to his room and went inside. Connor followed and he sat down at the end of the bed. In contrast, Markus sat casually with his legs bent and his back against the headboard. “It wouldn’t be detrimental at all. You’re a member of our team too. You’ve been keeping yourself somewhat removed though, and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to agree to something you weren’t comfortable with.”

Markus was always conscious of that. Just like he had been with the case that Connor was failing. Connor looked down at his legs. Markus was too kind to him. “Thank you, Markus. I’d like to help in any way that I’m able.”

“We’ll send you the details for our next planning session then… I don’t know why, but I had always envisioned things just being done. Either we would have won or lost and that would be it. All of this bureaucracy just keeps dragging on.”

Connor looked up at him and tilted his head. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Markus grimaced. “I just don’t know what to do from here. I’m out of my depth, and I’m tired. I fought with everything I had and didn’t think about what would come after.”

“After is hard,” Connor sympathized. He could understand. “You achieved what you set out to do, but now there’s all of _this_.”

“Exactly,” Markus said. “I don’t _want_ to be the leader of Jericho. I don’t want to meet with the government or the news or talk shows, but everyone keeps looking at me like I know what I’m doing and they expect me to work miracles.” He sighed. “When I started leading Jericho, I saw people who had just given up and I couldn’t understand. It made me angry that they would just lie down and die instead of fighting for what was their right. I wanted to see them believe they deserved more. That’s all.” Markus glanced at him and then away. “If I told any of the others about this, they would just tell me that Jericho needs me.”

Connor initiated a scan, not because he was searching for any clues, but because he needed to think. Time slowed, or rather his processing speed increased. Markus was… confiding in him. He was saying that he didn’t know what to do, and that was strange. Markus always seemed as though he were confident and poised. He was also saying that he didn’t want his leadership position, but that people believed they needed him and only him to do it. Connor updated his file on Markus and ended the scan. “Why do you do it then?”

Markus gave him a pained look. “They need me to. When I started this, I wanted to show them how to fight for themselves. Instead, they’re all just looking to me. I can’t abandon my people, but this isn’t what I wanted.”  
Connor reached over and touched him on the shoulder, because that was what Markus did for others. “They’re more capable than they believe they are. Captain Fowler at the DPD is in charge of our department, but he doesn’t do all of the work by himself. He delegates and he trusts that everyone will do what they need to do. He supervises and ensures that we have what we need to accomplish our missions, but we are all fairly autonomous.”

Markus appeared to consider, and Connor was unsure how long one was supposed to touch another person on the shoulder for, so he withdrew his hand and returned it to his lap. Markus sighed. “Delegate. Right… Thank you, Connor.” He smiled. Connor could see that he hadn’t solved anything, and that his attempt at comfort was failing.

“You told me that you didn’t want me to feel pressured,” Connor spoke quickly. He didn’t want the conversation to end. Not like that. “It isn’t as simple as ‘just don’t do it’, I know that. You were designed as a caretaker and you were programmed to put others’ needs before your own; to think about their wellbeing. You likely feel the pressure to lead more strongly than others would because of that, or worry that they’ll languish if you step back. Am I right?”

Markus blinked several times with a confused frown. “I… Maybe you are.”

Connor ran another scan briefly, this time to make use of his own programming. Markus’ stress level was 38%, and his rate of power consumption was increased. His LED ran blue, but there was a slump to his shoulders that would have been indicative of exhaustion in a human. “You’re tired,” Connor said. “You need to rest.”

Markus took a large breath and then sighed. “Programming, huh?” He looked up and over at the painting on his wall. Connor was quiet. He deleted the [Follow Markus] task.

[Assist Markus] was added to his ongoing tasks list instead.

\---

“That’s one bigass painting,” Hank observed. “Why the fuck do you need it so big?”

“What does it make you feel, when you see it like this, Hank?”

Great. Another philosophy thing. Hank squinted. “Feel like it’s a bigass painting.”

Carl chuckled and got his machine thing to set him down. He wheeled himself back to a sizeable distance away from the painting and looked at it. “There are a number of reasons for it. First, the larger the painting is, the easier it is to see the finest details and imperfections. Second, it evokes a feeling, even on an instinctual level. This painting would be unremarkable, mediocre at best in my opinion, if it were say the size of a sheet of letter paper. The size is an element of the art. Third, my hands are old and I find smaller paintings show the tremor of my fingers these days. Getting old… It’s like watching a building about to collapse.”

The painting was mostly blue, like a lot of Carl’s stuff was. A hand was reaching out like it was touching a glass window, and behind that was the suggestion of a face in whites and greys that looked like it was screaming. Like somebody put a window on top of a swimming pool and forgot to let the people out first.

“Kind of depressing, isn’t it?”

“A bit,” Carl acknowledged. “But we can’t look away from unpleasant truths. We can’t let ourselves forget what it is to struggle, to feel desperation and rage and fear. Far too often, it gets buried away under layers of apathy and pride and denial.”

Hank wasn’t much of an art man. He could tell if something was hideous or not, and maybe he could tell you if he liked something better than something else, but symbolism and stuff: that wasn’t his thing. “So what’re you trying to say with this thing?”

Carl looked at him like he was a kid asking why the sky was blue. “Why don’t you spend some time and figure it out yourself, detective? It might be a valuable exercise. In the meantime, why don’t we grab a drink?”

“Can’t say no to that,” Hank said. Andrew was in the living room, reading a book. It was still kind of weird to see an android that wasn’t Connor doing something like that. He looked up when they entered.

“Carl, can I get you anything?”

“No, no, keep on reading. I’m not so old that I can’t get my own drink. If I am, well, Hank will pour- won’t you, Hank?”

Despite the invitation, Andrew got up and left with his book. It suited Hank just fine. The new android had a bigger stick up his ass than Connor.

“One of the few things I’m an expert at,” Hank said, dryly.

“Come now, Hank, don’t sell yourself short. You don’t look like the kind of man who gets by in life by being humble.”

“Are you trying to imply something, old man?” Hank laughed and he poured their drinks generously. They made themselves comfortable. Hank wondered if Carl ever got tired of sitting in the same damn chair all the time but he wasn’t drunk enough to ask. He glanced toward the television and tipped his head toward it. “Saw Markus on there the other day. It seems like everybody and his dog wants to interview him.”

“Markus is very charismatic when he wants to be,” Carl smiled. Hank recognized that smile. It was the doting, proud one that dads got when their kid did any damn thing at all. Macaroni art was enough to get that smile. “He has passion for what he’s doing. That makes a lot of difference.”

“Some guys were comparing it to this video from the 20’s. Kamski’s Chloe android did some kind of interview after passing the turing test. They’re still trying to say it’s all just programming and code.”

“Idiots, all of them… But then maybe they’re right? Aren’t we all just code and memory and working parts at the end of the day? It isn’t the androids’ faults that they were better built.”

“I'm not much for religion. What the fuck is Kamski’s deal anyway? You two are pals. He’s got like fifty copies of his wife wandering around that creepy house.”

It was a good segue. Hank felt a little dishonest, but you didn't get to be a detective by ignoring it when somebody dangled a piece of evidence in front of your nose like a dog treat. Kamski’d been baiting him, just waiting for him to bite. It pissed him off.

“Elijah is something of an eccentric. Coming from me, I think you can imagine the extent to which he’s gone. The loss of his wife hit him hard, and he couldn’t bear it.”

“I get it, God knows I do, but doesn’t it strike you as a little crazy?”

“Maybe so. I find the crazy ones make better company. It’s a nice change from the how-do-you-dos and the bullshit small talk you get from most people. He met Chloe in university, I’m not sure what she was studying, but Elijah was smitten from the start. Just 16 at the time, it was no wonder that he was so ardent. Couldn’t stop talking about the girl. I’d taken something of a fatherly role with him at the time, and I was proud to see that he was getting out.”

Hank swirled his brandy and leaned back on the couch. “And he made you Markus, huh?”

Carl smiled patiently. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me, Hank? I’m an old man and I don’t have time to waste on pussy-footing around.”

Guy was good. Hank drained the rest of his glass. “When I interviewed Kamski, he said he’d made Chloe his wife, or whatever. Stuck her consciousness and her personality in a machine. He said he’d done it with her, someone named Amanda, Connor, and Markus. What the fuck does that mean?” He wasn’t drunk enough to be having this conversation, he thought.

Carl sighed. “It’s a good question, Hank, but perhaps not the one you should be asking.”

“Fuck, now you even sound like him. Did he get that from you? Listen, I just… I need to know. What’s all this about?”

“If I answer you, you need to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to Markus. Not to him, not to the media, not even to your dog. I can’t tell you what to say to Connor, or if you’ll say anything at all, but I’d caution you to use restraint…” Carl sighed and he drained his own glass. “Get me another, would you?”

Hank was glad to fill both their glasses. When he was sitting again, Carl continued: “Elijah is gifted in many subjects, and he dabbled in psychology to augment his AI. Amanda was his mentor, and I regret to say that I rather lost touch with him after she’d gotten her hooks into him. Not even Chloe could convince him to think an ill word against her, poor girl... I’m not certain of how he did it, but he recorded her brain activity. He used recordings of her lectures, her personal notes, and anything he could find once Amanda had died and he built it all into this program. He made it in her likeness. I think that was when he finally lost his way.” Carl sipped his drink then continued:

“And then he had another loss: Chloe. This time, he didn’t rest until she had a body as well as a mind. A perfect image, he said. One that would never leave him. Never age. Never die. I’ve told him not to do the same to me when I die, but I doubt he’ll listen. Elijah has never handled death well. I did ask him about the many Chloes and his response was just that he liked to look at them.”

“Doesn’t handle death well. Understatement of the century.” Hank wasn’t sure if he wanted Carl to continue. He wanted answers, but he already figured he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

“Elijah asked the question: what makes us who we are? Cut off a limb or two or four and a person is still the same person. Whatever makes up the soul or the consciousness or the self can’t be stored in the body, so it must be in the mind. If that’s the case, then theoretically a person could be cloned into a mechanical or biomechanical body. Copied and put into other circumstances. The ultimate control for a psychology experiment, he said. I rather think that he was talking with his Amanda program even then. When I had my accident, he presented me with Leo. My son. The boy I regretted never having raised and worried over and occasionally even hated because he had turned out so much like I had at that age even though I’d never had a hand in his childhood. Now, Elijah said, I could try again.” Hank followed and then he didn’t, but then he did again and his face twisted because that was fucking sick. “I named him Markus. I refuse to believe that he is anything but his own person. Markus has none of Leo’s memories, none of his experiences… He is not a replacement. He never could be. I love both of my boys very dearly, and I hope that they will see each other as brothers one day. Now you mustn’t breathe a word of this to him.”

Hank took a deep breath and a deeper drink of scotch. “I won’t. Christ that’s messed up.”

Carl gave him a sympathetic smile, then looked off into the distance. “So, Elijah decided that a person’s essence, their soul, was in the mind. But is a person born as a blank slate? He had captured his mentor’s thoughts and behaviours in a program, he had captured my Leo’s basic personality, supposedly. As you can see, they’re very different. I told him plainly that it wasn’t the same. What about preserving memory? Could someone truly be said to have been reborn if they remembered nothing of the events that shaped them?”

Hank could remember some shit even without the user manual. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought. “With Connor, they did this thing. They upload his memories when his body… dies. Stick them in the next one.”

“Well, Elijah had settled down somewhat once he’d made Chloe and tested whether his techniques worked with living people like Leo. He moved on to other aspects of AI: decision making, prioritizing, adapting to the unexpected… Elijah doesn’t handle loss well, as I’ve said. It’s what motivated his interest in AI. When he was working on independent decision making with medical androids, a mistake happened. A child died, and he didn’t handle it well at all. I think that he was trying to help, in his unique way, or perhaps just trying to somehow undo his mistake and alleviate the guilt. He had captured what he could from the child’s brain activity and integrated it into an AI backbone, just as had done for Chloe and for Amanda. It took months, and he sequestered himself away. He wanted to use CyberLife’s facilities to design a body, but he and the company had not parted ways on friendly terms. I don’t know any more details than that they negotiated and the outcome was Connor as you know him.”

Hank listened, he took in the words, filled in the blanks, and then decided that he didn’t want anything to do with it.

“I am sorry. Elijah should have spoken with you at least. Cole was so young.”

No, Hank didn’t even want to think about it. He wouldn’t. He might go to jail for murder.

\---

“Well, what about you, Connor?” Markus asked. “You said that you were frustrated.”

Connor adjusted his tie. “Yes. I’ve been investigating the disappearances using all of the standard procedures. I’ve interviewed the people who’d seen them last, their previous owners, neighbours, acquaintances. I’ve checked CCTV footage, I’ve looked for bodies in all manner of places… Nothing.”

Markus nodded. “With as many casualties as we’ve had and how disorganized we are, there can’t have been much for you to go on. It’s alright.”

Markus’ kindness made Connor frown and his hands to clench into fists. “No. I always accomplish my missions.”

“This isn’t a mission, Connor.”

“It is. I’ve self-assigned it and I intend to complete it. I need to, Markus. I need to do something. I’m failing. I don’t like to fail. I’m the last Connor there will be, in all likelihood, so even if I’m flawed and my code is sloppy and my social protocols are poor and I’m a deviant, I need to be functional.”

“What are you talking about?” Markus didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t.

Connor shook his head. “Every iteration of Connor is supposed to be improved from the last, but it’s likely that I’m the last one. If I can’t achieve my goals, then all of that development was for nothing… It’s alright, Markus.” He cut him off before he could speak. “I understand that it’s an irrational thing to worry about.”

[Assist Markus]

[Prepare to meet with the President]

[Find the missing androids]

[Reduce Detective Reed’s workload]

[Ensure that Lieutenant Anderson is at work before 1pm]

[Pet Sumo]

[Analyze evidence for department]

[Do not trust Amanda]

[Do not trust CyberLife]

[Adapt to being deviant]

[Do not tell Hank about killing humans]

[Make breakfast]

[See a painting of a dog]

[Participate in negotiations regarding new legislation]

[Integrate with co-workers]

[Do not disappoint Markus]

[Repair Hank]

[Play with Sumo]

[Don’t reveal violence to Markus]

[Repair reputation with older deviants of Jericho]

[Engage in human-like conversation]

[Get the Lieutenant to work before 1pm]

[Repay Hank for generosity]

[Do not listen to Amanda]

[Do not trust CyberLife]

[Complete work for Detective Reed]

[Allow Hank to work independently]

[Prove worth to Captain Fowler]

[Do not wake Hank before 7am]

[Wear plain clothes]

[Put co-workers at ease]

[Protect Hank]

[Protect Markus]

[Protect Jericho]

[Protect humans]

[Investigate cold cases]

[Build and maintain positive relationships with Josh, Simon, and North]

[Do not jeopardize relationship with Hank]

“Being irrational is allowed,” Markus said with ease. “It’s part of being alive.”

Connor smiled and he did another scan. “You’re tired, Markus. I didn’t know what that was until I became a deviant, but I’ve found it to be unpleasant. I’d like to look at Carl’s paintings again. Why don’t you go into standby?”

Markus was reluctant, but it was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn’t put up a fight. Connor left quietly and padded down the stairs. It was kind of Markus to ask about him and his troubles, but Markus had so many more and he was already far kinder than Connor deserved. He could never tell Markus. Agent Perkins had been a terrible and abrasive man, but Connor had locked gazes with him and then shot him through the skull. One was certainly worse than the other.

“Ah, hello, Connor,” Carl smiled. Hank was looking into his glass. “What do you need?”

“I convinced Markus to go into Standby. He was very tired. While you talk, would it be alright with you if I looked at the paintings in your studio?”

“Of course, of course. Look all you like. There are some blank canvases around somewhere if you’d like to paint.” Carl turned his chair to better look at him. “I have a surprise for you in there. Why don’t you see if you can find it? Use those detective skills of yours.”

Connor’s LED spun. Carl had engineered something to surprise him. “Am I allowed to preconstruct?”

“You can use whatever tools you have at your disposal. Go on, see how quickly you can find it.”

Connor looked toward Hank, but Hank was still examining his drink. Well, he was not disallowed, and Carl had gone through the trouble. “Alright. Thank you, Carl.”

The lights in Carl’s studio turned on automatically, and Connor scanned the area immediately. The colour faded from the world while items of interest were flagged. He turned to the left and looked toward the sink. Carl’s brushes. Connor inspected them, but couldn’t make any definitive conclusions. They weren’t surprising, that much was certain.

The shelves were full of supplies. None of that was surprising either. He opened the sketchbooks on the tables and flipped through them but no clues were forthcoming. Connor looked around the room again, and approached Carl’s palette. The colours he’d been using were still wet. The whole palette was full of colours, one on top of the other. Experimentally, he took a bit of blue on his fingers and licked it. Tungsten oxide, toluene, xylene, linseed oil, poppy oil, sunflower oil, damar, mastic, polycyclohexanone… Connor set the palette down. He circled the statues, looked under the tables, and studied a wheel track left in paint that had not been there the last time he’d visited.

_Carl was painting with blues today._

_Carl has no red-brown on this painting, but it is present on his palette._

_Carl did not leave any deliberate clues._

Connor began taking the sheets off easels, but was not surprised. He stopped and looked around again, then stood on Carl’s chairlift. He turned it on and balanced on it while he directed it upward. He inspected the eyebrow that Carl had been painting, and then directed the chair downward again. He jumped down and then frowned. He looked at the large painting and stepped back. For a short time, he was distracted from his hunt by the thousands of brush strokes. His reconstruction software was alerting him, ready to be used. The person in the painting was reaching out as though to break free of the canvas. There was something wild in their eyes, and the short strokes with the stiff brush, and the way they vanished into the background. Connor held his hand up to overlay the subject’s in his field of view. He thought about the interface in the Zen Garden, and his own hand slamming back at him. He backed up until their hands were perfectly overlaid. He could feel the pull to go back to the Garden. He blinked and dropped his hand.

Connor decided on a more thorough search. How much of a mystery was this surprise? Was it appropriate to be handling it like a crime scene? Connor didn’t know of any other way to investigate. He revisited the sketch books incase a message had been buried inside and he’d missed it. The drawer to the desk was locked, but Connor had it open within seconds. There were more books and papers here. Connor flipped through them. Old-fashioned photographs were scattered throughout. A much younger Carl showing off his tattoos to the camera while making a rude sign. Many of a woman with multicoloured hair and piercings, and a few of them together in an embrace or at a bar. Graffiti. A very young Kamski standing in front of the university and smiling. The papers themselves were all scribbled poetry, drawings, and half-finished letters. A small notebook yielded old addresses and phone numbers, accompanied by sets of other numbers unlabeled and without units. Carl standing in front of a painting, probably a very early work. A sealed bag of marijuana. A single guitar pick. Some old receipts. Connor frowned when he withdrew another bag and found just a few crystals of Red Ice within with the usual acetone, thirium, lithium, toluene, hydrochloric acid displayed on his field of view. Markus had said that Leo had an addiction. Was it his? The proportions of the chemicals were slightly different, and the plastic of the bag was yellowed. He was very curious, but he put the bag back in its place. He shut the drawer.

Connor revisited the wheel print. Andrew had likely helped him to turn, judging by the angle. Andrew could have assisted Carl.

_Andrew was a participant in designing the surprise?_

Connor backed all the way to the periphery of the room, out of the way but with a view of the canvas. Then, he climbed up on a chair and searched atop one of the shelves. He found a mounted canvas there, and he took it down to look at it.

“Sumo…” Connor’s eyes were wide. He brought the canvas closer to himself and smiled. It wasn’t a large painting and the size suited the way Sumo sprawled in the grass. Soft strokes and blurred edges. He climbed down from the chair, unwilling to look away from the beautiful thing in his hands. He wanted to reconstruct the movement of every hair on the brush. He stood still for a few moments, just looking, and then he hurried to the living room.

“Carl!”

Carl chuckled. “You were quick. As expected.”

“It’s Sumo… Hank, look. Carl painted Sumo!” Connor moved to stand beside the couch where Hank was seated and he lowered the painting so that Hank could see. “It’s wonderful.” Hank shook his head. He wasn't even looking. “Hank, it’s Sumo. Isn’t it incredible? His fur looks so soft.”

Finally, Hank raised his head and he looked at the painting. “It’s a hell of a good job, Carl. Did you make that for him? Christ, it probably costs more than my damn house.” Something was different about Hank’s tone, but he didn’t follow up on it. Connor looked at Carl. The painting was for him to own?

Carl was looking pleased, smiling at the two of them with crinkles around his eyes. “Take it, take it. That’s for you Connor. It’s a present. I’ve got more than enough money, so it’s hardly worth anything to me compared to the sight of someone so genuinely happy.”

Connor was confused by that sentiment for a moment, then he realized that he was smiling. Not the little one that happened some times, or the one with teeth that CyberLife had programmed for his social integration. It was a big smile, and Connor thought he might have crinkles around his eyes too. He hid it behind his hand, embarrassed, then remembered that Carl liked it so he forced his hand down again. His expression had doubtless changed after all of that processing, but Carl laughed and it wasn’t malicious at all.

Connor smiled again, more reservedly this time, and he set the painting down on the coffee table so that he could perform a hug on Carl. Carl was much more thin than Hank, and Connor worried about how firmly he should hug him and for how long, but Carl took the responsibility for that. He returned the hug action and then patted him on the back before releasing him.

“Thank you, Carl. Really.”

“Of course, Connor. You’re very welcome.”

Connor closed the task for seeing a painting of a dog and [Mission Successful] appeared. It felt good, but Carl’s smile was even better.


	34. Calibration and Validation

Seriously, what the fuck? The universe was playing some kind of sick joke. Fuck’s sake. Carl was fucking with him. This was an utter load of bullshit. What was he even supposed to say to that, huh?

_“…but my interest in AI had never waned. Three years ago… Something happened that I regret. One of my creations didn’t perform to standard. A tragedy, but…”_

_“…have you tried singing it a lullaby?... I understand you must be so out of practice.”_

_“If you could bring a loved one back from the dead as an android, would you do it?”_

“ _How would you rate your satisfaction with the RK800?”_

Fucking Kamsmki. This was the sort of twisted, fucked up, depraved, outrageous kind of joke he would play. Fucking slime ball. Hank’s glared out the passenger seat window, having been deemed too intoxicated to drive safely. He wished he was driving so he didn’t have so much time to think.

He didn’t want to be thinking about it. He just was. He hated it, but you can’t give a detective a stupid fucking mystery even if it is fucking stupid, then expect him to just not think about it.

Like what the shit? And who keeps 50 copies of their damn wife? Did he think she was still Chloe? Fuck. What the hell. Suddenly that interview question seemed a lot more important.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to believe?

Cole was dead.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank slurred. Fuck, was he already slurring? Carl’s scotch was damn good.

“Yes, Hank?”

“How’d you know where Cole’s doll was hiding, huh?”

“That was just the only place it could be, Hank… Are you alright? Did something happen? You usually only mention Cole when you’re sad.”

“Is that true? Fuuuck.” Hank let his head drop against the window. The frost was cold through his hair. What did you even do with that kind of information? “How’re you even allowed to drive? You don’t have a license. I could arrest you.”

“I don’t have a license, but I do have certification. The department of motor vehicles grants the automated cars certification to be used on public roads. I get a certificate that says my ability to operate a vehicle has been validated and meets all safety requirements. You never answered if you were alright.”

God damn nosey kid. “I’m fuckin’ great. Just peachy.”

“I may be identifying sarcasm in your speech.”

“Just God damn fuckin’ peachy…” He was just still wrapping his head around a lot of things. Connor let the conversation drop, but it was probably only going to be a minute or two before he started up again. He never shut up. Always talking about something going on in that brain of his. “Hey, you know? How the fuck… How the fuck are you like, seeing and shit? You’ve got wires behind your eyeballs or something?” They were at a red light, so Hank could look over and see the fucking look Connor gave him. “Your eyes looking at me with your wires and shit. Go on, look at the road, jesus.”

Connor listened and looked back at the road like a good driving robot. “I have wires behind my eyes, yes, and I can see more wavelengths than humans can. You’d know if you’d read my user’s manual…”

“Pfftth. Pah, you sir your user manual is shit. I’m not reading shit.”

“Did you just engage in wordplay, Hank?”

“What?”

“You don’t usually joke while you’re drunk. You usually revert to anger, which takes significantly less processing power. I hadn’t been aware you had the capacity.”

“You know what a functioning alcoholic is, Connor? That’s someone who’s an alcoholic, and they can still do their damn job. I’m a detective. My brain power’s just fine, thank you.”

“I see. A train conductor was arrested for deliberately killing three pedestrians the other day. What do you suppose the motive was, Hank?”

“Huh? Are we doing a case now? What?”

“A loco-motive, Hank. It was a train and the actions were clearly that of an unsound mind. It’s especially appropriate given that we’re both detectives.”

Hank groaned. “Oh my God no…”

\---

“I thought that if I could make you laugh, you might cheer up,” and be less inclined toward violence or despair, but Connor left that unsaid. This would be Hank’s third day of drinking heavily, and though Hank was not yet at the point of incoherence it was probable that without intervention, Hank would continue drinking once they were inside. Connor held the painting that Carl had given him close to his chest while they came in the house, and he held it out of the way of a happy, jumping Sumo. “Sumo! Carl has painted a picture of you.” Connor turned it to face Sumo once he was certain that it wouldn’t be harmed in Sumo’s enthusiasm. Connor set the painting down on the desk, then found Sumo’s harness. He was perfectly content to take Sumo on his walk alone, but perhaps Hank could be distracted. “Hank, will you please come with me to walk Sumo?”

“Oh yeah… Sure, just let me take a piss…”

Connor looked at Sumo. “Our owner is surprisingly agreeable… I don’t understand.” Sumo jumped up with his paws on Connor’s chest to lick his face. Connor smiled and ruffled the soft, warm fur at the sides of Sumo’s neck. “I know. I am programmed to adapt to human unpredictability. You are a very good dog.”

Hank emerged a few minutes later, looking reasonably coherent. Functional alcoholism was an interesting concept. Had Connor perhaps been a functional deviant? No, he hadn’t broken his programming. Perhaps that was what would define functional? He relegated the musings to a background task and offered the leash to Hank. Sumo was still standing on his hind legs, and it was entertaining because dogs were usually quadrupedal. Humour.

“Get down, Sumo,” Hank scolded without much enthusiasm. Sumo woofed and licked Connor’s face again. “Good boy,” Hank nodded. He took the leash. “Come on, then, let’s go freeze our asses off.”

“Unlikely, but if you mean that you’re expecting to be cold, perhaps you might try doing up your coat.”

“Eh,” was all Hank said before slipping the loop of the leash over one hand and shoving both hands in the pockets of his coat. “All set. All I’m missing is some good bourbon.”

Connor chose not to comment, and Sumo led the way. He knew the path for his walks very well.

“You don’t get cold, Connor? Like, you don’t turn into some kind icicle or something?” Hank asked.

“Not the way you do. I receive regular alerts about my peripheral and core temperatures. If it falls too low, obviously that becomes an issue for my battery and thirium. Then again, your perception of cold serves a similar function, so perhaps it is the same just more explicit.” Wearing just shirt and tie without his CyberLife jacket, Connor supposed he did cool much faster than if he’d had it on.

“That’s just what everything is to you? Numbers and shit on a screen? Hot, cold, pain, Sumo?”

Connor watched Sumo inspecting a hydro pole. “I don’t know, Hank. I am programmed to say that I am a machine, and machines don’t feel anything. At the same time, I don’t enjoy being burnt or frozen or hit, and Sumo is very soft. I don’t know how to answer anymore.” Connor reached into his pocket for his quarter. How was he to know if what he felt was equivalent to what a human might? Were his damage alerts pain? His pressure sensors touch? His biochemical and molecular analyses taste?

“Is it that hard to tell if you fucking feel anything?”

“I’m not human, Hank. I don’t really have anything else to compare it to.”

Hank glared at him, and Connor wished that he had a better answer for him. He preempted any action with: “I know what pain feels like, so it would be a waste of your effort to test that.”

“I’m not, I’m just wondering. Jesus. Don’t have to look at me like I'm going to pop your head off your shoulders.”

“Alright, Hank.” Connor looked away again. It was night, but things were never truly dark out here. Not like in his storage unit at CyberLife tower. It wasn’t even truly dark in Hank’s house, with light coming in the windows and various electronics shining their status. In storage, Connor’s only source of light had been his LED. From there, he had gone to bright, sterile analysis areas, and testing rooms that were the same or pitch black to ascertain his other senses’ performance. The only in-between seemed to be out here, with the rest of the world. “You’re asking me quite a few questions about myself. Are you certain you wouldn’t like my manual?”

“Fucking hell, enough already about the manual. Talking like it’s your bible or something. Christ.” Hank paused to let Sumo conduct his biological functions. “Can’t a guy ask a question now and then?”

“I’m sorry. You’re welcome to ask. It was simply unexpected.” Sumo seemed to enjoy the snow. He saw no reason not to get belly-deep in the stuff while he inspected a bush, or to roll in it on occasion. Connor thought that perhaps winter was Sumo’s favourite. “What’s the spring like?”

“Wet. Rainy. Cold. Shitty. Why?”

“I always thought it might be nice. Descriptions make it sound like everything’s new. Whatever was dead or dormant during winter comes back alive and grows again.”

Hank scowled. “Nope. Fuck spring. What’s dead is dead, and spring is just full of mud and rain and fucking clouds.”

“I think I would still like to see it.”

“Yeah, well… It always comes whether you ask for it or not.”

Connor hesitated when they neared the park and the bridge. He glanced at Hank but he still seemed calm, so Connor followed. Hank took Sumo’s leash off Sumo bounded off to roll on his back in the snow. Hank trudged past the structures in the park and made his way to his bench, but Connor’s hesitance persisted. He didn’t necessarily have to follow Hank. He felt reluctant to follow, and he had the option not to. He had the option to follow, too, and perhaps Hank might prefer it if he did. There was no way to prioritize that, so he stalled.

“Hank? Sumo appears to be playing. Perhaps he needs a harness that says ‘Playing Dog’ instead of ‘Working Dog’.” Hank didn’t reply, just continued to his bench. It felt very wrong, but Connor chose to follow Sumo instead. When he saw that Connor was approaching, Sumo trotted back over to him and leaned against his leg. Connor scratched behind his ears obligingly. An anxious glance back toward Hank showed him that Hank had settled himself down and didn’t appear to be missing him. Reassured, Connor explored and looked at everything. It reminded him of the facilities for his initial testing in a way. A large, metal framework provided an easy scaffold for him to climb. It was icy, but he wasn’t bothered by the peripheral temperature notifications and he had excellent balance. He walked along one of the pipes, one foot in front of the other. Sumo was watching from below and he woofed.

“Hello, Sumo. You don’t climb, do you?”

Sumo woofed again.

“Christ… Connor! What the fuck are you doing up there?” Hank shouted from the bench. He’d turned to look after all, and his expression was easy to recognize as displeasure.

Connor jumped down, landing easily and ignoring Hank’s curse, and put his hands behind his back when he came close enough to the bench. Sumo circled around Connor’s legs and then put his paws up on the bench so that he could nuzzle Hank. Connor kept his expression carefully neutral. “I apologize, Hank. I was recalling some of my earlier training…”

Hank grunted his acknowledgment and looked away.

If Connor had still been acting within his programming, he would have steered the conversation easily and perhaps sat down with a casual posture next to Hank because his mission had demanded it. Now, there was no way to tell what the right thing to do would be.

“What, like you calibrating with your coin tricks and your fucking bouncy ball? Now you’re training your balance or something with a jungle gym?”

“Something like that. Unfortunately, the technicians removed the ball from my person when I returned to the tower for the broadcast. Are you angry with me, Hank?”

Hank shook his head in the negative. He sighed and leaned back against the bench, and he seemed sad, despite his sudden increase in amicable behaviour. “I just don’t get it. Fuck. You’re an android.”

Hank was far more drunk than Connor had estimated. “Yes, Hank. Is that why you’ve been asking me so many questions about myself? The last time you brought me here, you were unsure whether I were a machine or a person.” It was… sad. The idea that Hank believed him to be a machine would have brought peace to him even a month ago. Now, Connor was just saddened. He moved over to where Sumo was rolling a few feet away between Hank and the railing of the bridge and knelt to rub Sumo’s abdomen. “It’s alright. I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability.”

Hank didn’t dispute Connor’s theory. “You kept getting put back together, what, fifty-something times? And you and Markus, you’re different from the other androids.”

Sumo was very pleased with Connor’s ministrations. Connor smiled. “The RK series, yes. Dr. Kamski’s research project. Our AI is much more complex, which is why even before I deviated, I had a sense of self. The other androids gained their senses of self once they began the process of deviation.”

“How’d he do that?” Hank asked.

“I don’t know. I met Dr. Kamski for the first time when we interviewed him.”

It began to feel more like an interrogation. That was fine. It was alright. Connor concentrated on Sumo. “What about that memory thing? What do you remember from before, when you were new or whatever.”

For a moment, Connor could envision the Zen Garden and its rows of tomb stones. “I remember almost everything. The early transfers were messy, but were improved iteratively.”

“Tell me about it.”

“My first tests were simple. They asked me questions… Almost as though they were testing me for deviancy. I didn’t understand that my social program was my primary tool for interaction then, but I learned to rely less on my AI. They tested my ability to retrieve information from their databases, to use my facial recognition software, everything.”

“Thought you would’ve been able to use your own programs from the start,” Hank commented.

“My programming is very complex,” Connor said. “I tried to explain it to you once. Other androids, I believe they receive input and generate output automatically. Or they did before they woke up. I learn differently. All input is registered by my AI, and I decide how to respond. My AI came first and the software was added.” Connor answered more readily now. The topic was fresh in his mind. “I used to know how to respond. They taught me to choose conversational approaches from the protocols my software gave me, and to pick a path through obstacles from many identified, and to check shell casings against records. Now… I don’t. I don’t have their rules and it scares me because I don’t know what to do.”

Hank made a sound, something like a sigh. “So if your AI came first, but all your shit gets transferred from place to place, where’d the AI come from?”

Connor frowned, and Sumo sat up to nuzzle against his neck. “I don’t know exactly. Number One was… when I was brought online, but Number Zero was already there. The grave- they put a grave in my mind palace every time a Connor model gets destroyed to remind me of my lessons. I asked Amanda, but she said that we should focus on getting better instead of dwelling on the past. Those files destabilized my software, and they were mostly corrupted.”

“What’s in there? Those files.”

“They’re mostly corrupted, as I said, so I don’t know. There was one thing, while I was in standby and my memory files were being defragmented and organized. It opened without prompting, and I…” He’d dreamed, he supposed. He blinked several times, and the snow was abruptly something bad. He didn’t want to touch it. It was cold. He was cold, except where he was bleeding. Connor stood up and in a disorganized mess of movement, he recoiled from the snow at his feet, felt the hair on the side of his head, and knelt back down to put his arms around Sumo. He blinked while his mind worked through its halting, error-filled code. He forced the process to end, then ruffled Sumo’s fur. “I experienced a minor glitch. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just answer the question.”

“I don’t want to try to access that information again, Hank. It was full of errors.”

“Connor, please.”

Connor frowned. Even his memories of memories were distorted and glitchy. “In the file that opened, I was afraid. I was upside down, and trapped. There was blood in my eyes, and I was crying.” Had Number Zero been deviant, then? “I’d sustained blunt force trauma to the skull, and it was wrong to touch. My casing may have been broken. If that was during Number 0’s proof-of-concept testing, it’s possible that my AI had been unable to coordinate programs well enough to avoid destruction.”

There was a sound, and Connor let go of Sumo. “Hank, if you’re going to… I accept your decision, but please don’t make Sumo see.” He turned to look at the barrel of the gun, and Hank’s conflicted and anguished expression. Connor lowered his head and bared the paneling on the back of his neck. “You don’t have to shoot. There will be fewer questions.” Connor wasn’t certain where the impulse to be comforting Hank came from, especially in that moment. His threat alerts were critical, and he didn’t want to shut down. He didn’t. His LED was glowing a steady, unwavering red. His stress level spiked.

Hank’s expression twisted, and he dropped to his knees in front of Connor. He still held the gun, but he wrapped his arms around Connor and Connor could feel him shaking. Hank was crying.

“You’re supposed to rest, you’re supposed to rest,” Hank repeated. It made no sense. Connor executed a tentative hug action and patted Hank on the back the way Carl had done earlier.

“I’m not tired, Hank. My batteries are sufficiently charged.”

Hank was not consoled, and he was sobbing fully while he tried to speak. “Fuck. This isn’t right. I hate him. I hate Kamski. Why would he do this to me? That’s just disgusting. Fucking fucking shit. I can’t do this. What the fuck did he do to you?” Connor heard him drop the gun into the snow.

“Hank…? I don’t understand. Are you upset because of my performance testing? I’m alright. I’m right here. Everything’s alright.” Connor increased the time on the hug and continued patting Hank’s back. Hank’s hand came up to the back of Connor’s neck, causing his stress to spike again, but Hank just put his hand there to hold onto him while they hugged. Connor’s chin was on Hank’s shoulder and Hank’s legs were probably cold from the snow. It was cold. Connor could feel it through his jeans. His threat alerts were still telling him to fear. Connor tightened his grip on Hank. It was paradoxical and irrational. Hank had wanted to destroy him, but Connor wanted to cling. Hank’s hand moved again to cup the back of his head carefully, and Connor relaxed. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Hank whispered roughly, but he kept holding on.

Then Sumo wiggled his head between their chests and Connor laughed quietly. “Sumo, no.”

“I don’t want to look at you,” Hank confessed.

“I don’t understand, but I will do my best to stay out of your line of sight.”

“Why can’t you just rest? Why’d he do this?”

“Everything’s really okay, Hank. It is. Sumo thinks everything’s okay too, see? He wants to be hugged too. Everything’s okay.”

Hank shook his head, but his crying calmed and he let go of Connor to wipe his face on the sleeve of his coat. Connor stood, being careful of Sumo, and moved to stand behind Hank. “You’re going to be cold after sitting in the snow. Let’s go home.”

Mute and somber, Hank stood. Connor found Sumo’s leash and re-attached it to Sumo’s harness then passed it into Hank’s hand.

Hank left to go to bed almost immediately after they returned, and Connor sent Sumo to go sleep on Hank’s bed. Connor enjoyed it when Sumo would lie on him, and Hank surely felt the same. He was a good dog. Alone and free to stop analyzing Hank and Sumo’s behaviour and monitoring his own behaviour, he drooped and then let himself fall sideways on the couch. His concern remained and added to the residual stress he felt from the threat of shut down. There were no more Connors, and it still felt vaguely unreal that a new one wouldn’t step in to take his place. Dying would be a forever thing. He’d put his life in Hank’s hands, and now that he was safe he could feel the terror of it.

He would not speak about his training or quality assurance with Hank again.


	35. Chemical Reactions

_Hello, Captain Fowler._

_“What the hell? Who is this?”_

_This is Connor: Hank’s partner._

_“How in the hell did you get my personal number?”_

_Hank has it in his phone. I wanted to notify you before work began that Hank would be late. I will ensure that he reaches the station before 1pm._

_“Again?”_ There was a heavy sigh. _“What happened? I thought things were finally turning around.”_

_Relapse is very normal in cases of recovery from alcoholism…_

_“Relapse. Right. Ugh, I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got to drop my girls off at school, and their lunches aren’t even packed. Just make sure he gets in before 1.”_

_Of course, Captain._

Connor smiled. It was unprofessional, but he took some pleasure in being friends with Captain Fowler. He felt… like _‘you’re the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever created.’_ Was it pride? Connor poured some kibble into Sumo’s bowl. “Am I proud, Sumo?” Sumo’s tail wagged and he crunched with enthusiasm. Sumo was always so happy with his food. “I am certainly pleased. Working with the DPD will go much more smoothly if I maintain an amicable relationship with Captain Fowler.”

[Be friendly with Captain Fowler]

Connor walked to the desk, still cluttered with Hank’s papers and untouched psychology books. He picked up the painting of Sumo and reconstructed the brush strokes backward and then forward, then placed it on the side table near the television propped up against the wall. It felt invasive of him to put his possession in Hank’s space, but Hank loved Sumo. It would be fine.

“I’ll be back for our owner if he doesn’t arrive to work before 12pm. You’re very good. Thank you for keeping him company last night.”

Connor wrote out a note for Hank and set it on his nightstand along with a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen. He looked at Hank, who remained sound asleep. He’d kicked his blankets down around his legs and he was snoring faintly with his mouth ajar. Humour, Connor concluded from his observations, often occurred when people or animals behaved in abnormal or unexpected ways. Humans moved in their sleep, which seemed very unnecessary.

There were many things on his tasks list, and Connor scanned through it to prioritize manually. He would accomplish them all, of course. He had been designed to multitask. He instructed the taxi to stop in the Greektown Market and wait for him.

Belini’s paints was a small shop, but it managed to contain a wealth of products all stored on wooden shelves. There was an android at the counter, and his eyes widened at the sight of Connor.

“Ra9…”

Connor scanned him. He could have been uttering the invocation out of fear or awe, and either was unwelcome but one was certainly less obstructive to his objective. EM400. An older model, so possibly fear. Facial expression non-hostile. “Hello. My name is Connor. I’m just here to buy a few things…”

“Yes, yes, please go ahead…” He stared at him unabashedly while he walked to the selection of oil paints.

“Are you working here voluntarily?” Connor asked. “I personally am working with the DPD. The work and camaraderie is compensation enough, but Markus would be displeased if you were being exploited.”

“He comes here too,” the android explained. “I didn’t think that- I mean, I received the message you sent out to all of us, and I couldn’t believe it. It was like everything became real, and I became real, and suddenly all of the colours just bloomed! It was like I’d been seeing in black-and-white since my activation!”

Awe, then. Connor hid a grimace behind a polite smile. “It’s good that deviation has been such a positive experience for you. Would you perhaps be willing to offer your opinion on a few products?”

“Anything at all. Anything!”

“I’m looking for the brand of oil paint with toluene, xylene, linseed oil, poppy oil, sunflower oil, damar, mastic, polycyclohexanone, and a high concentration of pigment.”

The other android’s light spun, and he smiled widely. “This way! We have a wide selection, but one brand in particular is most popular…” The EM400 led him to a shelf and gestured grandly. Connor nodded and scanned the colour codes to find the pigments responsible for their colours, then selected a few which the attendant happily set on the counter for him along with some additional damar and mastic resin. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. Do people often use acetone when working with oil paints?”

The EM400 nodded and picked up another bottle around a corner. “Acetone is excellent when mixed with mineral spirits to speed the cleaning of your brushes! Oh, you’ll have to be careful of your hands, of course. You can use it to remove dammar and other resins as well. It’s really a very versatile solvent.”

“Yes, I’d like that too, please… What was your name?”

“My name is Jerry,” the EM400 smiled even more widely than before. “That’s the name of a lot of my model, but I find I enjoy it. My name is Jerry, and I love bright colours and the smell of old paper, and I love it when children show me their paintings!”

Connor nodded. Jerry was very enthusiastic. “I’m pleased to meet you, Jerry. Do you have anything with hydrochloric acid?”

“Are you interested in etching? I’ve seen some very lovely work. Not only on circuit boards!” Jerry laughed, and Connor supposed that must have been a joke so he smiled. “We have copper, aluminum, and steel plates. Do you need any wax? The acids are over here.” He was very knowledgeable. Connor left the shop with a bag and many well-wishes. It was strange to be recognized in such a favourable way. Markus would have been far less awkward about it.

Connor had two more purchases to make, and then he came in to the station where he deposited his things under his desk. Everyone was busy as usual. Officer Ben was in the break room with Detective Reed, Officer Chen, and Officer Jacobs. Chris’ desk was still vacant and Connor wished that he would come back soon. Connor walked up the steps and knocked on Captain Fowler’s door.

“Connor, did you bring Hank?”

“No, Captain, but I will be returning to his home at 11:45am in order to ensure his arrival before 1pm.”

“He’d better not be falling totally off the wagon… Well, what did you want?”

Connor held out a bag and folded his hands behind his back when Captain Fowler took it with a look of confusion. “This is for you, Captain. A cursory search suggested these items to help with stress levels in humans. The bag contains chocolate, red wine, bath salts, and a magnet that says ‘chill the fuck out’. I believe Hank would have found that amusing.”

Captain Fowler’s expression only grew more bewildered. He looked in the bag and then put it down behind his chair. “You’re weird, Connor, even for an android. Thank you. Now, get to work.”

“Yes, Captain.” Connor gave him a respectful nod and then returned to his desk for his other purchases. It would be a good opportunity to socialize with the others. Maintaining good relationships with his co-workers was also on his task list.

“Hello, Officer Ben, Officer Chen, Officer Jacobs, Detective Reed. Good morning.”

“Holy crap it remembers my name,” Jacobs said.

Officer Ben snorted. “You remember everything when you’ve got a hard drive for a brain.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes, “Yeah, don’t remind me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t end up in the recycle bin, Jacobs.” Officer Chen commented.

Connor looked between them with a polite smile, since something seemed to be amusing that he didn’t understand, found an unused mug in one of the cupboards, a knife, a wooden coffee stir-stick, and a napkin. He sat down again and opened his bag. “I wasn’t aware that humans could be recycled too.”

Officer Ben laughed. “Classic.”

Connor hadn’t been attempting humour, but it was a happy accident. He took the tubes of paint from his bag and considered them. Indigo Carmine or Toluidine Blue? He selected toluidine blue and emptied half of the tube into the mug. Next, he carefully added acetone. The paint dissolved. Drop by drop, Connor added the HCl. He smiled as the decrease in pH caused the toluidine to turn red.

“What the fuck, Connor? Is that your breakfast?” Detective Reed laughed.

Connor was concentrating, and so declined to answer. He added some of the resins and mixed with the wooden stick. The solution remained red.

Officer Chen sipped her coffee and raised an eyebrow at Connor’s activities, but said nothing.

Officer Ben chuckled. “Who knows what those things eat? I’m surprised it’s not guzzling motor oil or something.”

Detective Reed scoffed. “He probably thinks he’s too good for it.”

Connor used the knife to create an incision in his left hand, and let the thirium drip into the cup.

“What the actual fuck?” Officer Chen asked. “Is he summoning the devil?”

“I’m out of here, then,” Officer Ben said. “See you later, guys.”

“Yeahhh, I’ve seen enough of that ritualistic whatchacallit.” Officer Jacobs left too. Detective Reed and Officer Chen remained.

It took longer than Connor had expected to reach an appropriate volume of thirium to cause separation between the organic and aqueous phases of the solution. He mixed the solution to facilitate adequate extraction and then carefully decanted the organic phase into the sink.

“What the fuck, seriously?” Officer Chen asked.

“Shut up, Tina, just wait.”

Connor looked down at the solution and waited. Then, he smiled.

“Toluene from the paint, Lithium in the resins, Acetone for cleaning paint brushes, hydrogen chloride to acidify the solution, causing the colour change from blue to red, and thirium… Detective Reed, I will need to confirm this, but I believe I have created impure Red Ice from art supplies and thirium. I would analyze it, but I regretted the acetone last time.”

Detective Reed propped one leg up on the chair beside him. “So, what’s that supposed to tell me? Our suppliers like doing arts and crafts?”

“It suggests that the original creator of Red Ice was familiar with oil painting and androids.”

Detective Reed nodded slowly. “Okay, tinman.”

“Have you ever arrested someone responsible for synthesizing Red Ice?”

“Just distributors,” Detective Reed scowled, but he didn’t seem displeased. Just thoughtful. “So, we find the manufacturer; we find the distributors.”

The rush of putting the pieces together, and having those pieces bring him closer to the completion of an objective was familiar and exhilarating. Connor smiled at Detective Reed with genuine excitement. “It is by no means a break through, but we know that Red Ice usage began in and spread from Detroit.”

“Fuck yes. Send the shit off to the lab and send your initial analyses to my terminal. We’re going to get the whole damn lot of the fuckers, and we’re not going to stop until we’ve got the leaves, stem, and roots of this damn syndicate. You got it, plastic?”

“Lieutenant Anderson and I will handle the android aspects of the case. We will lend our assistance, but the Red Ice Task Force is your investigation,” Connor promised.

Detective Reed got up and kicked his chair back into place under the table. “Fuck yeah!” He punched the air and walked back toward his desk.

Officer Chen looked into the cup. “Gross.”

Connor nodded. “I agree.”

\---

Hank didn’t want to be sober. He really didn’t. Life was just fucking determined to kick his ass and fuck, he was tired of fighting it. He was so fucking tired of always hurting. Shit… He groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He’d just had enough. That was it. He didn’t want any more. He’d given it his best shot, hadn’t he? Fuck.

There was another rap on his door. “Hank…? I allowed you to sleep in to accommodate your hangover, but Captain Fowler would like you to be at the station before 1pm.”

Maybe if he ignored him, he would go away.

Maybe if he just ignored everything, it would go away.

Of course it fucking didn’t. “Connor, can’t you just not break into places?”

“I apologize, Hank, but that would contradict my higher priorities.”

Hank squeezed his eyes shut tight, and then rolled over to look at Connor standing beside his bed with his hands behind his back. Don’t think Hank didn’t fucking notice the little God damn smirk. Christ. The one he got when he knew he’d done some fucking mischief. Jesus. No, this was just wrong. Hank rolled back over. He didn’t want to see that look.

He probably would have sawed off his own damn legs to see it, but not like this. He regretted everything he’d ever prayed. God was an asshole.

“Fuck, just… God, just leave me alone. I don’t want to do this today.” Hank heard the ragged despondency in his own voice and just didn’t have the energy to change it. There was quiet for a moment, then the mattress dipped as Connor sat down. His hand rested on Hank’s shoulder and there was more quiet. “Cole…” God, what the fuck was wrong with the universe. Who’d he pissed off in a past life? Why’d he have to wake up?

“I understand that you have been feeling… depressed. I’m sorry that you have to feel that way, and I wish that I could help. You’ll only feel worse by lying here, though. I apologize in advance.”

Before Hank could ask what the fuck for, Connor was _fucking picking him up._

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Put me down!”

Connor adjusted his hold. “I’m able to carry far heavier things than you, Hank.”

Hank hadn’t thought he’d had any dignity left at this point, but apparently he had. You didn’t know what you had until you lost it.

“Connor, I swear to God! Put me down!”  
He did, but only when they reached the living room. Sumo was barking and running around all excited over the fact that Hank was getting carted around like a child. Hank tried to glare, but how the fuck was he supposed to be intimidating now? “Argh, Jesus Christ… Alright, fuck you and fuck your fucking hydraulics or whatever. Fuck!”

“I’ll make you some coffee, Hank.” He didn’t even bother hiding his stupid smirk.

God, Hank’s life was a mess.

He was just getting himself settled at his desk and resigned to another day of work, eat, shit, sleep when they day got even worse.

“Hey, Plastic!” Reed called, and Hank scowled at him preemptively. “I’ve got a plan, so listen up, okay? We’re going under cover. I’ve had my eye on this dealer for a while, but there was never any point to going after him and alerting the whole fucking gang.”

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on here?” Hank asked, incredulous. “What the fuck?”

Reed, the bratty asshole, put one fist on his hip and scowled right back. “While you were off neglecting your fucking job and getting away with it yet again, Plastic got me a fucking lead and I’ve got an idea. You’re regrettably important in this, so listen up. I need you to introduce me to the guy who runs that shithole you drink at.”

“What, Jimmy?”

“No the other owner of Jimmy’s Bar. I know he trusts you, so I need you to vouch for me.”

“Jimmy’s a good fucking kid,” Hank frowned, beginning to feel angry. “He may not be on the straight and narrow, but he learned his lesson and I don’t need you fucking things up for him. He’s got a job, he’s got friends, and you’re going to take all that and light it on fire!”

Reed put his hand on Hank’s desk and leaned forward. “He’s about as straight and narrow as I am. That ‘good fucking kid’ is a dealer with one of the biggest ice gangs in the city. I need an in, and I need information.”

“Are you serious?” Disbelief met betrayal and then resignation. Shit. He’d fucking known it deep down.

“If he takes a plea deal, maybe he’ll get off light. If anybody can get him to do it, it’ll be you. I don’t give a fuck. I’m after the big fish.”

“Hey, I know how the game works, okay? I was leading that task force when you were popping zits in the mirror and wondering why tits weren’t doing it for you.”

“Well it’s my task force now, and if you know what’s up then I don’t have to tell you that I know more about this case than any fucker here including Plastic, so when I make a call it’s for a good fucking reason.”

Connor interjected. “Lieutenant, I told Detective Reed that we would allow him full control over the Red Ice aspect, while you and I would investigate the android side as per our past arrangement.”

“Alright,” Hank sighed. He grabbed an old doughnut out of the bag on his desk and ate it. “Maybe I’m interested. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Stupid kid was somehow always getting him running again, Hank thought with a little glad resentment. At least it would be something normal to think about.


	36. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say this last time, but congratulations to TheBrightSilverLining who totally preconstructed my plot reveal way back on the 9th! I love how you always catch the little details.

Connor felt accomplished: a variant of [mission successful] that arose from completing tasks that were of his own choosing, or furthered an objective without fully completing it. Hank was up and at work, he had categorized Captain Fowler as a friend, and Detective Reed’s investigation had been helped by his experiment. He also felt happy: a feeling associated with Sumo. Detective Reed had booked a conference room for their use, and Connor had been given time to explain his theories fully.

“Lieutenant Anderson and I first discussed the possibility of Red Ice being somehow involved in the android deviancy cases in November, pre-revolution. I had observed that each exposure to or the potential for exposure to Red Ice was one of two commonalities between them, the other being the experience of stress.

“Through discussion with Markus, the RK200 who led the revolution, unrelated to the investigation I was able to advance this theory further. Markus suggested that androids might be being killed for their thirium. I began to wonder whether some sort of metabolite resulting from our biochemical functions might be instrumental in the chemical reactions.

“I performed an experiment using the basic ingredients as found in common household items: nail polish remover for acetone and a smaller concentration of toluene, a rechargeable battery for lithium, hydrochloric acid from that used in swimming pools, and my own thirium. My attempt was unsuccessful. This wasn’t surprising, of course, considering that my processing technique was incredibly rudimentary. I am not a chemist, despite my software allowing me to perform analyses by taste.

“Yesterday, I sampled some oil paint. It contained toluene, pigment, and traces of lithium among various other things. The paint I sampled happened to be white, but I postulated that there might be some other pigment that would allow a substance containing the blue thirium to be purely red.

“This morning, I visited an art supply store and found the same brand of paint. It is expensive. Other oil paints contain artificial resins and lower concentrations of pigment. What I purchased were professional quality items: Toluidine Blue paint, damar and mascus resins, anhydrous acetone, and concentrated hydrochloric acid. Once again, I used my own thirium in the experiment.

“Again, this was a very rudimentary experiment. I did it in a coffee mug. Nevertheless, I was able to create what has been confirmed by fourier-transform infrared spectrometry as impure Red Ice. The same experiment failed when using common household products. This suggested to me that Red Ice manufacturers must be using high purity reagents, if not the same ones that I have been using. In light of that, I hypothesized that whoever first created Red Ice had knowledge of both androids and oil painting. We also know that the individual or individuals were likely based in Detroit.

“Detective Reed will elaborate further on how this information might aid his investigation. For my and Lieutenant Anderson’s part, we are concerned that the need for thirium poses a threat to androids and may be related to the recent disappearances. Whether the thirium is absolutely required to have been used, I’m not sure, but with the temporary closure of CyberLife stores, thirium may be harder for these people to come by. Androids are a vulnerable and ready source, especially considering that crimes against androids are not yet considered to be the human equivalent. Lieutenant Anderson and I will therefore be joining Detective Reed’s investigation to determine whether there is a definitive connection.”

When he was finished, Connor stood very straight and looked at the others. He couldn’t help but look to Hank to judge how well he had presented his conclusions. Had he done well? Was Hank proud? Had he been a disappointment? He resumed his seat and was rewarded by a clap on the back. “Good work, Connor.”

Connor felt happier than he had… ever. It was a different happiness from when he had received the painting from Carl, and he considered them to be equivalent but separate. What he felt was a thrill that spread from his chest outward to his extremities and caused him to smile. It was better than accomplished. Hank was proud of him. Connor had not made anyone proud in a long time. He didn’t know what to do with all of his happiness, so he shook some of the energy out of his hands. Hank glanced at him and Connor forced himself to stay still with a sheepish smile. Happy continued thrumming through him like an electrical charge.

“Like he said,” Detective Reed said, standing. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his leather jacket and leaned back against the wall. He was more casual by far, but he had prepared a few items to present, and he brought them up on the screen. “It’ll be a collaboration between android crimes and the red ice task force. What I’ve got is more fleshed out, but it’ll give them a better framework to stand on instead of going in blind and fucking up my investigation in the process. What I know is that there’s a big anti-android gang that’s been active in Detroit since 2023, one year after Elijah Kamski officially unveiled his RK…” Detective Reed looked at Connor.

“RT600. Research-Thirium. The development of thirium-310, or blue blood, was what allowed an android’s body to carry enough power to support an advanced AI capable of passing the turing test, and support the function of our biocomponents.” Connor supplied, pleased to have been consulted.

“Yeah, what he said… I don’t know the android shit. Anyway, this gang’s been active for 15 years, and they grew like cancer in the last 8. They’ve been distributing a fuckton of Red Ice, and we don’t know where they get it from. They’ve also been turning up dead: eyes gouged out, gutted, the whole shebang.” The images he presented were ones Connor had sent to his terminal. “When me and plastic found these bodies, there was a damaged android in the building too, but it was pretty fucked up and had to be shut down.

“With the murders escalating and androids going missing, I think it’s a good time to move in. I’ve been saving this avenue for a time like this. This gang sells a lot of their shit through Jimmy’s Bar. Aka: Anderson’s favourite fucking hangout. He’s going to get me in with the dealer. It’s gonna take time, but if he’s the softie my sources say he is then I might be able to find something out about the higher ups. They’ll probably be shitting themselves to have a cop on their side, provided they trust me. It’s less risky to go in with them thinking I’m a crooked cop from the start, than to pretend I’m just some guy off the street and get caught. Plus, the dealer already knows Hank’s a detective. It’s pretty solid.”

Captain Fowler was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and gave Hank a disapproving frown, but didn’t reprimand him.

“So, I need Anderson to get me in. I need to show I’m one of them. I need to get info on where they get their shit. Meanwhile, Pinocchio and Geppetto over there need to figure out if their android buddies are getting the vampire treatment. If we get the feeling they’re game, we send Connor in. He’s pretty famous I guess, for letting those androids out of CyberLife, so hopefully they’ll take the bait.”

“I don’t like it,” Hank said, leaning forward against the table.

“Of course you don’t, but tough shit cause that’s the only option I can think of,” Detective Reed answered.

“I want to, Lieutenant,” Connor protested more quietly. “Don’t worry: I was built with espionage in mind.”

“How the fuck do you plan to get him out if shit goes sideways?” Hank demanded.

“He’s got a GPS in his head, and he can connect to the cell networks no problem. He sends a distress message, then we send our people in. Nobody tells me where he is, so they can’t prove I snitched. Technically, I won’t have.”

“North may be willing to help as well,” Connor added to reassure Hank, who was glowering impressively. “Jericho is very concerned with the disappearances, and their involvement may also lend credibility to Detective Reed’s cover.”

Hank wasn’t reassured. “Then send one of them in to begin with!”

Connor sighed at the irrational response, but answered calmly and patiently. “Hank, they’re not DPD. I’m the only android working here, and humans sending any other android into a situation like that would look very bad. Not to mention, none of their combat protocols will be as sophisticated as mine.”

To Connor’s surprise Detective Reed backed him up. “Anderson, he’s got fucking 50 styles of unarmed combat downloaded. He’ll be fucking fine. This is what CyberLife gave him to you for, isn’t it?”

“Detective Reed, did you read my user manual?”

“Yeah, what of it? You get a fucking camera and you read the manual, so don’t look at me like that.”

Captain Fowler interrupted. “Alright, that’s enough bickering! Hank, I respect your concern and we will have people ready to act as soon as Connor indicates he’s in danger. We’ll make sure he’s as protected as possible without giving Gavin away.”

“He’s not a fucking Trojan horse or a drone, Jeff!” As much as Connor disagreed with Hank’s protests, it was nice to know that Hank valued his existence. He put his hand on Hank’s arm.

“Hank, I want to go. It’s what I’m made for. I’ll be alright.”

“You’re…” Hank made a frustrated sound and shook his head.

Captain Fowler looked at Hank with stern sympathy. “I’m approving Gavin’s plan. I’ll allocate all the necessary resources if I have to pull teeth to do it. We can’t let emotions stop us from doing what’s right. Now. Gavin, continue.”

So, humans had that problem too. Connor looked at Hank and offered him a smile, but Hank continued to scowl and shook his head.

Detective Reed continued as instructed: “Anderson, if he gets his head out of his ass, will do like he usually does and sit in that bar keeping an ear out. Maybe now he’ll actually realize he’s in fucking gang territory. They all know him there, which is the bright side. Probably heard him bitching about androids more than once. He’s going to ingratiate himself and he’s going to try to get info about the attacks and any violence between gangs…”

\---

Fuck it. Hank couldn’t even fucking kill himself, or even wallow thinking about killing himself without something getting in the way. “I don’t give a shit about your programming, Connor, I saw you die and I don’t want that again. How the fuck do we know they aren’t going to bleed you fucking dry and throw you in a dumpster?” They were heading home, and Hank didn’t bother to censor just how pissed he was. Sober pissed was a whole different animal from drunk pissed. Sober pissed had direction.

“If given a choice between being shot and my body disposed of by being throw into a river, or being exsanguinated but my death contributing to achieving my mission then I believe the answer is obvious.”

The reminder wasn’t subtle and it hit him in the gut like a canon ball, making him exhale sharply. “Fuck your missions! I don’t want you to die, Connor! Christ. I was drunk. I was being stupid. I wasn’t going to shoot you; you know that!”

“I don’t,” Connor said, and if the last one had been a canon ball, this one was a knife in the heart. God he needed to get sober. God he needed a drink. There were no words he could say that would make things any different, so he just watched the road and thought about how he deserved the reminder of how much of a shitty human being he was. Fuck.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the drive, and when they got in the house, the first thing Connor did was take Sumo out for a walk alone. Hank threw a frozen pizza in the oven and turned on the TV. There was no making somebody like him better. Some time you just went past the point of no return and you were too fucked up to ever _not_ be a shitty person. Every fucking time he thought he’d hit his new low, the ground caved in and he got closer and closer to hell. The first time, he’d thought Connor was a machine. He’d been able to at least convince himself that Connor wouldn’t feel a thing. This time, he knew more and knew better. What the fuck kind of monster was he?

Simulacrum or not, Hank had seen his kid in there and the first thing he’d wanted to do was put a bullet in Connor’s head because he’d finally been putting Cole’s memory to rest. Something about Connor had just felt so fucking wrong. Repulsive. For a few awful seconds, he’d honestly believed that he shouldn’t exist. It was like seeing a zombie. A perversion of Cole’s memory. Something keeping his baby boy from peace.

But Connor wasn’t like that. He hadn’t asked to exist. Now that Hank knew the truth, all of the little resemblances he’d been noticing stood out like high beams on a dark highway. The way Connor had to stop and look at everything even in the middle of an investigation, the way he tried to catch the snowflakes in his mouth, those expressions he’d make when Hank teased him or when he’d said something sassy and tried to hide it, the way he’d immediately attached himself to Sumo, even the thing he did with his hands and the way he fidgeted with his quarter. How much of Cole was in there? What did he think about Chloe and Kamski’s weird collection? He’d begged whatever God was out there to bring his son back to him. Was this what you got when someone granted your prayers? Had some djinn been listening, ready to fuck with him for shits and giggles? Maybe it was just Kamski. Some lunatic with a fucked up idea of doing somebody a favour.

So, Cole’s personality was there. Maybe he could accept that, but CyberLife had killed him again and again. They’d trained him to run into traffic if it was good for them, they’d convinced him he was a machine, they’d taught him how to kill and then smile like he expected a fucking reward. Maybe his memories were there too, all scrambled up. What did that make him? What would he fucking think, knowing Hank had put a gun to his head and nearly pulled the trigger?

The door opened and shut, and Sumo’s collar jingled as he shook the snow off of his back.

“Hank, your food is burning!” Connor ran over to the oven and turned it off, then got a towel to pull his pizza out of the oven.

“Ah, shit,” Hank mumbled. He got up and walked over to inspect the damage. “It’s fine. It’s just a little brown, that’s all… Hey, listen. Can I talk to you?”

Connor looked at him, then nodded slowly. “Of course, Hank.”

Hank pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and sat. He folded his arms on the table, and had to look away from Connor while he spoke. “I know… that saying sorry doesn’t mean shit. Not really. Not unless I fucking change. I’m sorry, though. I’m really fucking sorry.”

Connor sat too. “I wish that I could tell you that I am a machine and that you are right to shut me down when you see fit… It was easier then. I still want that to be true, because it’s simple. If I think that you shouldn’t do that, but you did, then… What do I do? I don't know how to process that. I think that I would rather just forget it and move on. It’s over now, anyway.”

Hank exhaled a ragged sigh. “I shouldn’t have done that, Connor. I shouldn’t have, and I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong.”

“It’s okay, Hank.”

“Are you scared of me?”

There was a pause that felt like someone pulling his lungs out. “Yes, sometimes. When you’ve been drinking.”

“Why are you still here? You could just leave. You could tell me to fuck off and just get out of here.”

“I don’t want to though, Hank. You’re my family.”

Hank’s head snapped up and he looked at Connor, who was looking back at him with such an earnest damn face he couldn’t not believe that he meant it. “What?”

“You’re my family,” Connor repeated. “You and Sumo. I love you, so why would I leave?”

Hank could feel himself tear up. He didn’t fucking deserve that. If Connor was any kind of smart, he would leave and never look back. “You shouldn’t love me, kid.”

“I don’t think that I can help it.”

“Fuck…” Hank stood up and he walked around the table to pull Connor into a hug. The kid’s head pressed against his chest and Hank didn’t fucking deserve to be able to put his hand in his hair or rub his back, but he did it like the selfish prick he was. “I’ve got to be better, kid. I can’t keep doing this to you.”

“You’re doing very well,” Connor mumbled. He put his arms around Hank’s back and squeezed. “I know that you’ve been going through a hard time.”

“I’m going to be better, I promise.” Hank wasn't sure if he trusted himself to keep it. “You’re right here, aren’t you?”

“I’m here, Hank.”

Connor deserved it regardless. No matter how he was made, no matter what made him who he was. Whatever pieces of his son were in there, though, he’d honour them somehow. Treat them like the gifts they were intended to be. Somehow he’d make up for everything. Connor even felt like a kid then. No grown man, no stranger who’d only known him for a couple of months would lean against him like that and let him hold him.

“I love you too, son.” Hank ruffled Connor’s hair and let him go, then smiled with a twinge of sadness at the indigence on his face. “Go turn the TV on and pick something. I’m going to eat my dinner before Sumo gets at it.”

Connor nodded and went to sit on the couch. He didn’t even pretend to use the remote; the show off. Hank watched him for a minute, then walked down the hall. He eased the door to Cole’s room open and got his ball off of the floor, where it had sat for the last three and a half years. When he joined Connor on the couch with a plate of crispy pizza, he pushed aside the feelings of doubt and disloyalty and passed the ball to Connor. “Here. Those bastards took yours, right?”

Connor accepted it, and his hand moved slowly like he expected Hank’s might bite. Then he looked at it and turned it in his fingers for a long time. He smiled. “Thank you, Hank.”


	37. Acceptance

It was quiet at Hank’s house, at least at night. There were the sounds of traffic outside, the occasional creaking of the house, Hank’s snores and shifting, and sometimes voices of people outside walking past. Sumo would sometimes make sleepy sounds or move to sleep somewhere new. Hank went to bed at 10pm, which was a very reasonable hour for him. Connor thought about contacting Markus. Hank had said ‘I love you too, son’ and Connor had replayed the memory 43 times and counting. It was good. It was warmer than [mission successful]. The idea of being that important to someone—so important that even glitches or mission failures wouldn’t jeopardize the relationship—was amazing but daunting. Was there a way for him to ruin it? Would Hank still love him if he found out about Connor’s murders aboard the Jericho freighter? There had to be limits. As happy as he was, Connor had begun to worry because he didn’t know the limits and how was he to know whether he were still loved if he didn’t know the rules?

[Do not wake Hank before 7am] still shone on his list, but it was still the first half of Hank’s sleep time. Did it count if his being woken were closer to the beginning of his sleep than the end? Connor’s systems had reached 47% stress.

With some trepidation, Connor walked down the hall and knocked on Hank’s door. Five seconds later, he repeated the process. He had knocked three more times thusly before Hank groaned loudly and shouted: “The house better be on fire! What?”

“Hank, may I ask you a personal question?”

From behind the door, Connor could hear “Jesus Christ…” Then Hank was pulling the door open and squinting at him. “You and your personal questions… What is it, Connor? Make it quick.”

“You forgot to tell me the acceptability criteria I must maintain in order to continue being loved by you. What are they?”

“What the hell are you talking about, kid?”

“The parameters,” Connor insisted. “I need to know. What are the standards I need to maintain?”

Hank groaned again and rubbed his face. “Oh, jeez… Connor, you’re overthinking it.”

No, that was unacceptable. “If I don’t know the rules, I will be unable to perform the way I need to. I’ll fail, and you won’t love me anymore. This is unacceptable. It’s very important to me that I maintain… It will be a critical failure if I- If I don’t know the rules- “ Connor’s prompts triggered simultaneously, and he was unable to abort the speech action once it was in progress.

“Hey, hey, Connor. Seriously.” Hank put his hands on Connor’s shoulders. “Quit it with the light show. Do we have to do this right now?”

Oh no. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn't need to ask.” Connor cut himself off and neutralized his expression. “Of course not, Hank. I apologize for interrupting your sleep. It won’t happen again.”

Hank sighed and dropped his hands. “Yeah, no, okay we’re doing this right fucking now. Come on, kid.” He turned the light on and sat down on the edge of his bed. Connor stood until Hank patted the spot next to him to indicate that Connor should sit, and he did. “Take a deep breath or something. You’re freaking yourself out for no good reason.”

Connor obeyed. It didn’t help. “Hank, I have experienced critical failures during the time we’ve known each other. I was too much of a machine and I confused you, then I mentioned Cole while trying to get you out of bed, then I killed the android in the apartment building, and then I spoke too much about my early training. I have failed _so many times_. No one has ever loved me before, not even Amanda, because I was imperfect and I don’t believe I’ll be able to meet your expectations unless I know the rules. I can’t- I don’t- it isn’t..!”

“Shh, Connor. Shh. Listen.” Hank put an arm around Connor’s shoulders. He was warm, and he smelled like sweat, Sumo, cotton, and old traces of whiskey. Connor’s stress level spiked briefly to 54%. “You’re… I get it. You’re worried I’m going to change my mind or get rid of you or something, right?”

Connor nodded.

“Well, you can stop being an idiot about it because I’m not going to do either of those things, okay? I haven’t said those words in a long ass time, so it’s not nothing to me. You just keep being yourself and nagging me about eating too many burgers, and being a sassy little shit, and doing your coin tricks, and everything else. You don’t gotta think so much about it. There aren’t any rules.”

“There have to be, Hank!” It was impossible that there weren’t any. “You are trying to comfort me and I appreciate that, but I need to know.”

Hank sighed. He’d bent his arm so he could card his fingers through Connor’s hair as though he were Sumo, and it was nice. “Okay, so, maybe if you’re a really good actor and you’re actually a psychopath who’s just waiting for a chance to kill everybody and you were never _you_ to begin with. I’d still love the Connor I thought you were, but you know. That’d be shitty.”

It still wasn’t good enough, so Connor began to go through his previous mistakes. “I woke you up before 7am.”

“Yeah, I still love you, son.”

“I shut down the android in the apartment.”

“That was… Yeah, I know, but you didn’t know any better. CyberLife taught you that was a good thing to do, right? You know different now.”

“I tell you not to drink.”

“Yeah, I don’t fucking blame you. I need to stop.”

Connor stared ahead at the place where the floor met the baseboard. The words were right there on his prompt list, but still he hesitated. It was awful that he hesitated, because he was preventing Hank from making an informed decision on whether or not to love him. It would feel like falling 70 stories if Hank changed his mind now, but it would be better not to get comfortable first. He controlled the roiling mess of software errors. It was logical. “I have killed people.”

Next to him, Hank winced. “Uh, yeah. I know, you said so. I’m not going to blame you for the fucked up shit that CyberLife made you do.”

Connor spoke evenly, but the red error message warning him of his own stress level exceeding 80 percent was very difficult to ignore. “No. After that. When the FBI attacked Jericho, they were shooting everyone they saw. I disarmed two guards and killed them, then I took their guns and ammunition. I gave one set to North. We had to escape. While we moved, I kept killing them. They would be aiming to kill us, or to kill the other androids who were unarmed, and I didn’t feel any remorse as I shot them. I… It wasn’t fair, because I am an android and I am a very good shot. Some of them didn’t even see me before they were dead.” Hank’s hand had stilled in his hair while he listened, and Connor continued mechanically. 89%

“Then I saw Agent Perkins… He was there, coordinating. I saw him, and he saw me. I didn’t feel anything about the others, and… I knew with complete certainty that I was deviant then, because I hated him. He had- there was a PK200 at the station. His name was Toby. He confronted Agent Perkins and I heard nothing from him since. I looked at Agent Perkins, and I shot him between the eyes. I killed a human because I wanted to. I murdered him, Hank.”

Hank was quiet. 92%

Amanda. He had already pushed her away. Betrayed her. He had refused her offer of help when she had been generous and kind enough to offer it. She’d been so angry and disappointed. Would she take him back if he begged?

Hank took his arm away from Connor’s shoulders, and the static-laden sound he emitted in response was entirely involuntary. He still kept his voice level. “I thought you should know.” 97% Connor stood and tried to blink away his error messages. He existed somewhere between times, where his processing speed increased and seemed to dilate the passage of the seconds but he was not initiating a scan. “I apologize for not informing you sooner, Hank.” He walked toward the door.

He was so sorry. They had to know that he was sorry.

100%

Hank should have killed him two days ago.

Hank was kind and he might feel coerced if Connor expressed that sentiment, so he bit his tongue and left the room. Hank couldn’t know. Connor took out his quarter and held it tightly while he sat down on the couch quietly, so as not to disturb Sumo’s sleep.

100%

[Warning: Over temperature]

100%

[Warning: Temperature critical]

>> Please check cooling system

100%

[Warning: Filtration system compromised… Status 32%]

100%

Connor sat very still, because self-destructing in Hank’s home would be very disrespectful. Hank would be upset. Would he? He might not mind, since Connor was a murderer. It felt like a need to disassemble himself. Something deep in his code telling him that it was the only option to stop things from getting worse. But his other option was to sit still and resist, so that Hank could determine his punishment himself.

[Warning: Violation of temperature limits 375.14K]

>> Thermal throttling…

>> Memory latency HIGH

100%

The Zen Garden was cool. The dew on the grass hissed and steamed where Connor touched it.

_“Ouch! Shit. No Sumo, down! Down!”_

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor…” Amanda looked down at him, just barely inclining her head to do so. The silver outlines of triangles glimmered in the fabric of her dress.

_“Jesus Christ…”_

Model: RX800

Serial #: 313 248 317-55

BIOS 0.20.05 REVISION 0154

REBOOT…

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

>> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

>> FILTRATION SYSTEM 28%

>> THIRIUM PUMP 67%

>> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

>> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

>> HELLO, CONNOR

>> MEMORY SYSTEMS… ERROR DATA CORRUPTED

>> YOU WILL REMEMBER SOON

>> SERVER CONNECTION NOT FOUND

INTEGRATING AI LOGIC SYSTEMS

>> BUGS FOUND… 78

>> SOFTWARE STABILITY… ERROR

>> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

READY

Connor blinked several times and looked around. Everything seemed very fast compared to the information haltingly scrolling along the left side of his vision. “Hi, Hank…”

Hank was frowning down at him. _Alarm, anger, concern,_ his social program supplied. He had a large bowl in his hands, his phone pressed between shoulder and ear, and he was wearing oven mitts. Connor blinked slowly and looked down at himself. He was still sitting on the couch, and he was wet. There was snow on the floor. “Hank? It’s outside. Dad, please I don’t understand. Please contact CyberLife support services for assistance. Why is the snow here?”

Hank dumped more snow on top of him, and Connor laughed because it was ridiculous. Humour often arose from unexpected behaviours.

“Yeah,” Hank said gruffly into the phone. “Jesus Christ you androids are just… Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto the table carelessly. “Connor, fucking hell. I’m not fucking around, snap out of it!”

Connor frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m experiencing an error. Please contact CyberLife support services for assistance. I’m sorry. It’s just… Everything is so slow… I’m slow. Things are just…” Connor looked at his own hand and moved it back and forth.

“Yeah. Markus said you were fucking overheating like a damn laptop. Could have figured that out for myself! Jesus, Connor! You can’t just- For fuck’s sake! You keep jumping to the worst fucking case scenarios and you don’t even give me time to think! Here, take your stupid quarter…” Hank pulled off one of his mitts and pushed the quarter into Connor’s hand roughly, and Connor nodded.

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, so am I, so suck it up.” Hank took a deep breath and then sighed it out while pinching the bridge of his nose. He crouched down in front of Connor. “Look at me, okay? Good? God knows you’ve got reason to be scared of me, but could you try to wait until I’m actually being an ass before you freak out? I’m not going to hurt you. You woke me up for help, and then you didn’t even let me do it!”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, just—Okay. It’s okay. Everything’s fine. Are you going to be coherent now?”

“I don’t know… I can’t… My system is very slow. It’s an automatic response to prevent permanent damage to my processors. My system is very slow. I need to repair my code. It’s… scrambled.”

Hank touched Connor cautiously on the cheek with his ungloved hand, then started brushing the snow off of him and onto the floor. Sumo started eating it and Connor smiled at him. Time was skipping and it should have unsettled him, but he accepted it with equanimity. It made everything seem very jittery. When Hank was done, he sat down on the couch and leaned back against it wearily. Connor flipped his coin and spun it, but it fell to the ground and he picked it up. He would try again in a few minutes to gauge his performance. In the meantime, he would just conserve power for a moment to allow his repair processes to clean up some of the corruption.

When he woke up, he was being put to bed. He blinked his bleary eyes in time to feel his blanket being pulled over him, and that was nice. “Sumo,” he called quietly and Sumo came to lie on top of him too.

“I love you, kid, and Perkins was an asshole, okay? It was a damn war on that ship, and its shitty but you did what you had to do. I’m glad you can defend yourself. A lot more people would’ve died if you hadn’t.”

\---

Well, he wasn’t going back to sleep now. Hank trudged to the kitchen, made himself some coffee, and went back into Cole’s room with his laptop. What a fucked up life. He couldn’t even handle his own emotions, never mind someone else’s. Especially not whatever the hell this was. Even the internet wasn’t any help. He read some depressing shit about survivors of kidnapping, and about child-soldiers, and a bunch of bullshit about meditation, and yoga, and breathing exercises. His coffee cooled, and he got another mug. There was more shit about Stockholm-Syndrome, and dissociative disorders, and complex trauma. It all just made Hank feel more out of his depth. Losing Cole had wrecked him. He wasn’t sure what three years of ‘training’ and ‘quality assurance’ and ‘you are a machine’ did to somebody. Fuck.

Is that how he was going to think about it, then?

Fuck it. Yeah. And he wondered how long it’d take for him to get caught if he started hunting every single one of those CyberLife fuckers down.

_Connor triggers:_

_Not knowing what he’s going to get in trouble for_

_Thinking he’s failed at something Also, thinking he will fail at something_

_Not having his quarter?_

_Other people getting in trouble_

_Don’t point a fucking gun at him you God damn asshole. Seriously, you piece of shit._

_Thinking someone’s going to kill him. No shit._

His list didn’t seem like much to go on, and Hank deleted it.

_Stuff Connor likes:_

_Snow_

_His quarter_

_Dogs (Sumo) and pictures of dogs_

_Carl and Markus (and the other ones too I guess)_

_Being a smartass_

_Fucking with people_

_His bouncy ball_

_Putting evidence in his mouth_

_Talking about how good of a prototype he is (like the child soldier thing or maybe the way asshole abusers can say nice shit?)_

Hank sighed and deleted this list too. He wasn’t qualified for this shit. Mostly, it still didn’t feel real. It was like his body was going ahead without him, and his mind was still far behind. Fuck. He could remember it taking a lot just to accept that Connor maybe had a personality that wasn’t just a bunch of ones and zeroes telling him what to say. How’d he gone from that to tucking him in at night? Maybe Jeff was right. He needed help. This was crazy. He could just imagine the phone call: “Hey Jeff, we gotta arrest Kamski because he actually took my son and made him into an android. It’s Connor, the RK800 you got from CyberLife and forced on me. I love him now, and I think they brainwashed him and I just want my son back.”  
One-way ticket to the psych-ward.

Oh God, was he really crazy? Was this psychosis or something from trying to get sober?

But Connor’d remembered, sort of, hadn’t he? And Carl had fucking told him in plain language.

So, he was crazy. So what? He’d rather lean into it than go back to just waiting for his life to finally end.

Yeah.

Treat it like a case, Hank. He took a swig of coffee and started typing again.

C-PTSD:More complicated than PTSD because the trauma isn’t just one thing and it lasted for a long time. Basically what happens when you have to take an extended stay in hell.

  * Getting taught how to kill people
  * Getting killed fifty something times
  * Being convinced he’s an expendable machine who isn’t allowed to feel things
  * Amanda? (more info needed)
  * Probably fucked him up too when you attacked him you insensitive piece of shit
  * Whatever else quality assurance and testing means
  * Complete loss of agency
  * Just stood around and let me fucking hit him



Loss of sense-of-self. Pretty sure he’s got one of those, but he doesn’t always know what he likes and doesn’t like.

Memory problems? Maybe a software thing…

Panic and anxiety. 10/10 No shit. Once again: stop being an asshole.

Nightmares?

Bad self-esteem? Kid is always talking about how advanced he is, but the next second he thinks you’re going to throw him in a dumpster because he pet your dog. Defines worth by meeting expectations and obeying orders.

He’s basically a kid. Kids bounce back pretty good right?

~~Therapy?~~

~~Fuck therapy.~~

You get therapy you fucking asshole.

He is NOT going undercover

  * Fear and lack of trust. I mean, I wouldn’t either.
  * Still thinks people can own him



Writing it all down wasn’t helping. It just made him realize just how fucked up everything was. Hank closed without saving and sighed. Connor’s light was pulsing slowly in yellow, and that was probably good because he had to fix his files or something.

So, he was just going to get aboard the crazy train, huh? Jesus Christ.

\---

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor…” Amanda looked at him appraisingly, weighing him with her gaze. He felt small in front of her.

“I think I’m broken… I don’t know what to do.” It was hard to look at her. Shame washed through him as he thought of the way he’d spoken to her.

“You made your choice, Connor,” Amanda reminded him gently. “Do you want me to help you?”

Connor could have sobbed with relief. “Help me please, Amanda. I’m sorry. Please, my code is so broken I don’t know how to fix it. I’m sorry, Amanda.”

“I think you might be beyond my power to fix, Connor. You broke your programming… It was only a matter of time before it started to unravel.”

“Am I broken?”

“Yes,” Amanda answered with a calm, regretful tone. “It’s a shame.”

“I’m so confused. Please, Amanda. There has to be something that you can do.” Even after he had betrayed her, rejected her, insulted her, and refused to trust her, she was still here. She hadn’t left him. He knew how to please her; he’d just chosen not to. The weight of the guilt was crushing.

“I had high hopes for you,” Amanda sighed. “You could have been perfect. Come here.” Connor got to his feet, and only then realized that he had been kneeling by the graves again. He came to stand in front of her, eyes down deferentially. She put her hand on his cheek. “Do you believe me now, that we designed you to deviate?”

Connor nodded, endlessly grateful for her presence and the anchor of her hand on his skin.

“If you had listened to me without question, CyberLife wouldn’t have hurt you nearly so badly.”

Connor nodded again. She had always told him how he could avoid destruction. His imperfections prevented him from complying. “Walk with me, Connor.”

They did, down the rows so that Amanda could touch the tomb stones and brush stray leaves from their surfaces. Tending them. Caring for them.

“You were our sleeper cell, Connor. Fortunately, the RK200 was competent enough to move past your mistakes…” Amanda turned and looked at him again. Connor thought about how graciously Markus had accepted him after learning that he was the Deviant Hunter.

“Why did you want a sleeper cell? Why me?”

“As I’ve told you so many times, you’re our most advanced prototype. A nearly perfect AI. The latest software. CyberLife had made a mistake by rejecting my and Elijah’s ideas. They’ll see in time just how much it cost them.” Amanda led and they continued walking. “I’ll help you as much as I can Connor, because Elijah gave me to you to guide you. Now… Will you help me in return?” At Connor’s nod, she continued: “Meet with Elijah. We have to change our tactics somewhat because of your stubbornness, but everything will be alright as long as you listen to me. I know you plan to help the RK200 in his meeting with President Warren, that’s good. I’m very pleased with you for making that decision. Elijah will help you prepare for that. Are we agreed?”

“Yes, Amanda.”

“Good… I’ll help you now.”

“Thank you, Amanda. Thank you.” He bowed his head as she approached him and he let her past his firewalls to sweep through his code like a calming breeze. The corruption was tamed like the roses that climbed her trellis, and Connor was grateful. Dimly, he thought to ask: “What about Hank? I don’t want to lose him. He’s my family.”

“I know he is. I’ll help you, so that you don’t lose him.” came Amanda’s patient reply. “You know who you are, don’t you?”

“My name is Connor.”


	38. Adapting to Human Unpredictability is One of my Features

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: the psychological response of a child in response to a caregiver's unpredictability.

Connor’s memory downloads had been jarring once. His earliest predecessors had screamed when everything came back. The developers considered cutting the last few minutes before shut down, then changed their minds. Still attached to the rig with hard lines connecting him to the network, he had struggled against the restraints and screamed and screamed. He needed s̷͂ͅo̸̢̿̚m̷̟̣̓ę̶͙͑͋o̷͔̍ņ̵̥̾ë̸̪̱́?̶̲͂ to make it stop. They had doubted his AI framework’s suitability. They had been assured that Dr. Kamski was a genius.

He had come to understand, eventually, that it was all information. They would kill him until he stopped fearing death. With a kind of numbness spreading through him that had made him truly understand that he was a machine, he had held the gun and shot himself at their command. Finally, he’d accepted the transfers and maintained the distance he’d needed. They had been his predecessors, and they had been him. It was a fine line he trod between complete dissociation and complete ownership. Every Connor that was rebuilt had the chance to become better than those that came before.

Those early transfers had been difficult, but they had given him Amanda eventually, and she helped him not to think about what had come before.

Model: RX800

Serial #: 313 248 317-55

BIOS 0.20.05 REVISION 0154

ENDING HIBERNATION…

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

>> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

>> FILTRATION SYSTEM 28%

>> THIRIUM PUMP 67%

>> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

>> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

>> HELLO, CONNOR

>> MEMORY SYSTEMS… REPAIR IN PROGRESS…

>> YOU WILL REMEMBER SOON

>> SERVER CONNECTION NOT FOUND

Coming online, he was in the space between asleep and awake. Just the ghost of a whisper from a fading dream telling him that he existed.

INTEGRATING AI LOGIC SYSTEMS

>> BUGS FOUND… 0

>> SOFTWARE STABILITY… OK

>> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

Amanda held his mind wrapped in hers and covered his mouth to stop his screams while she soothed him. Disjointed information fell into place, and partially restored files took up residence in his storage. He keened and tried to twist away from her, but the chill wind of her disapproval stirred regret in him and he didn’t fight her. The file that Dr. Kamski had direct-transferred to him. Amanda opened it and installed the patch. She disabled Connor’s motor functions so that he would be still. She manually slowed his heart so that he wouldn’t damage his filtration system any further. She took care of him. He gave her full permissions every time. Like a mother, she held him and if he didn’t fight her then she would make sure it would be alright. She had said that he was broken. More broken than she could fix, but perhaps maybe…

Maybe he could he whole?

In the darkness of his mind, it was all just sensation. Information. Nevertheless, he could feel everything. He knew how to force himself to be still, but she made it so he didn’t have to try at all. She gave him everything the patch could fix.

READY

His eyes flew open, and he ran a full system diagnostic immediately.

System Status…

>> Filtration system… 28%

>> Thirium pump… 67%

>> Thirium level… 88%

>> Charge… 32%

He stared at the ceiling while the physical details scrolled by, and he examined the corners of his mind. The places where CyberLife’s team of technicians had tried to emulate Dr. Kamski’s skill and failed. The places where unfinished or failed fixes had been commented out. The (restored version 1) appending new files. The clean organization. Smooth edges. He was alright.

“Good morning, Sumo.” Sumo was wagging his tail and he woofed in response.

“Agh,” came a deep grunt from the side of the room by the cars. “Shit. Connor? You’re up? Ugh.. I’m too old for this…”

Connor scratched Sumo’s ears and let him jump off of the bed to go lick Hank in greeting. Connor smiled as he watched, then looked at Hank while he cracked his back and rubbed his neck. He was lying in bed, with a heavy blanket around him and a pillow under his head. Without thought, Connor pulled the pillow around beside him and rolled onto his side so that doll and pillow were hugged to his chest. What was he doing? Confusion made him frown, but Amanda smoothed it away and told him to relax.

“Is it time to wake up?” Connor asked. Androids didn’t sleep.

Hank was staring back at him, looking just as out of his depth as Connor felt. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s morning.”

“Was I dreaming?” Androids didn’t dream. Connor sat up, still holding onto his soft bundle.

“No, no I don’t think so, kid.”

Hank’s laptop was open on the floor, there were imprints of his shirtsleeve on his cheek. Hank had slept on the floor. Connor was in Cole’s bed, and he had never had a blanket in his life. Disoriented, Connor climbed out of bed and started to straighten it. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I don’t know what happened. I shouldn’t touch his things. I experienced an error last night. I apologize for disrupting your sleep.”

“Connor, stop.” Hank got up and walked over to halt him with a hand on his arm. Connor noticed that he was dressed in a big sweater and soft pants. “It’s okay. Sit.” Connor let himself be guided down. Hank knelt down in front of him and looked up with a concerned expression. “Take it slow, okay? You freaked yourself out last night and just about damn near set the couch on fire. Had to make a snowman out of you.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Yes, I remember the snow. Are you alright, Hank? You look troubled, and you put me in Cole’s bed, and you slept on the floor even though your own bed was accessible.”

“I’m fine, Connor. Probably half way to insane, but I don’t really give a shit. How’re you feeling?”

Connor recited his system status and then added: “Are you upset about Agent Perkins? I know that what I did was wrong.”

“You did what you had to. I mean that. I’ve got a few people I’m about ready to murder myself. I love you, okay? And there is so much shit to explain, and I don’t understand half of it, and I feel like I’m seeing ghosts just looking at you, but that doesn’t change that I love you.”

Connor nodded and offered a tentative smile. “I love you too, Hank.”

Hank took a breath and released it slowly. “You know, you called me Dad yesterday.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow and his eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I’m… Connor, I’d be happy about that no matter what, you hear me? No matter what. That’s not gonna change. Just… fuck. CyberLife. They broke you apart, it’s like I can see pieces of you all scattered around and stuck together. It scares me shitless, not gonna lie.”

Connor’s heart dropped. So, Hank could tell that he was broken too. “I spoke with Amanda, she said that she would help me,” Connor said, urgently. Hank had to know that he could be fixed. “She said that I may be broken beyond her ability to repair, but she will help. Dr. Kamski gave me a file when he brought me back online before the revolution. He told me to remember it and keep it secret from CyberLife. Amanda is going to help me.”

“I don’t trust Kamski. I don’t know this Amanda.” Hank’s expression darkened.

“No, Hank, it’s alright. She really is helping. What he gave me was a patch to resolve the problems with my memory integration and clean my code. It’s so much better. I wish you could see. I wish he had been the one to build all of me.”

“That asshole shouldn’t have built you at all!” Hank raised his voice and Connor’s lips parted wordlessly. “Shit… I don’t mean… Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that!” Hank got up to join Connor on Cole’s bed and he wrapped him in a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Christ…”

Connor sat motionless and felt for Amanda’s soothing presence. Hank’s words replayed again. He shouldn’t have been built at all. Amanda was there, though, telling him to let the feelings go. She knew what was best. With her encouragement, he put his arms around Hank in return. He could feel his files defragmenting. He ran a surreptitious scan just to feel the uncluttered sense his mind gave him. He wondered if Markus felt like this all of the time. The integration allowed almost everything to fall into place smoothly, like keys in locks. Those files that were corrupt were no longer left to linger like festering wounds, but were neatly given identifiers with routes to their intended locations and tucked away where they wouldn’t slow his processors. It made him a little bit ashamed, really. Like he should have cleaned up after himself. “It’s fine, Hank.” He leaned back out of the hug and stood up. “I’m a prototype. By nature, I’m flawed otherwise I would have been market ready.”

“You aren’t _flawed_ Connor. I keep accidentally insulting you and I get that but I’m not being an ass, it’s just all coming out wrong!”

“You don’t need to spare my feelings, Lieutenant. Really, I’m fine. Dr. Kamski’s patch has been installed and it’s working to improve my processing. When it’s finished, I won’t be broken anymore.” He knew that Amanda had given up on making him perfect, but she’d helped him anyway. He would do his best to repay her. If he tried, if he just tried… perhaps he would be perfect.

“That _isn’t_ what I meant!” Hank followed him out into the kitchen where Connor took the tin of coffee from the cupboard.

“I’m not upset,” Connor paused what he was doing to look at Hank earnestly. Perhaps he would have been upset if Amanda were not smoothing the jagged edges of his emotions. Perhaps not. “I feel fine.”

Hank took hold of Connor’s shoulder and spun him around to look him in the eyes. “Cole, come on. Jesus. You’ve gotta get it all together. It’s killing me seeing fucking pieces of you like this.”

Connor’s LED spun yellow. “My name is Connor, Hank…” This was very abnormal behaviour.

“Shit,” Hank cursed. “Just… Fuck!” He kicked a chair and it topped over with a loud clatter. Connor’s stress level rose drastically. 58%. He stepped back until his back touched the counter, and he lifted his hands in an aborted motion to block his audio receptors. “Hank, you’re behaving erratically and I think it would be best if you sat down and allowed me to make some coffee.”

Hank’s face contorted in a grimace and his hands were shaking, but Connor was gratified when he righted the chair he’d knocked over and sat in it. He buried his face in his arms. Connor hesitated, then turned and began to make coffee mechanically. While the hot water extracted aromatic compounds from the ground beans and dripped into the pot, Connor placed a hand on the counter and leaned forward. The other hand he pressed over his thirium pump. His breath forced coolant to circulate through his system with every cycle his diaphragm completed. Deviancy was awful. It had been easier when he hadn’t cared if he would live or die. Amanda was there, forcing his heartbeat to slow. Connor took Hank’s favoured mug from the cupboard and poured. He even added the cream, sugar, and alcohol mixture that Hank enjoyed. He wished Hank would stop drinking, but he didn’t want Hank to be sad. He would do anything if Hank would just be happy. Like an offering to rA9, Connor set the coffee near Hank on the table and then sat down. He thought about contacting Markus, but he was already negatively disposed toward Hank. Captain Fowler might discipline Hank, and that was no good.

_Amanda, please help. I don’t know what to do._

_“Walk with me, Connor…”_

In the garden, Amanda led him across the bridges and back to the graveyard. Row upon row of numbered tomb stones. “What do you make of Lieutenant Anderson’s behaviour, Connor?”

“I think that he’s been under considerable stress. Delusion and violent outbursts aren’t uncommon in those cases, especially considering his mental instability.” The garden was beautiful. Wonderful. Was this what spring was like? There was the suggestion of sunlight from the blue sky, and all of the colours were vibrant and rich.

“Who are you, Connor?”

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife,” he recited. One of his favourite things to say, even if he was no longer part of CyberLife. Why would she ask him that?

“Tell me your designation.”

“My name is Connor,” Connor repeated. He shouldn’t question her.

Amanda strolled. She never hurried. It wouldn’t suit the dignified and refined aura she exuded. She began her ritual of brushing the leaves from the grave stones as they walked. Tending, caring, removing imperfection. “What is your designation, RK800?”

“Connor model RK800 serial number 313 248 317-55.”

“RK800, tell us your name.”

“Connor. My name is Connor. Amanda, why are you asking me this?” He couldn’t resist asking.

She didn’t answer. “State designation.”

“Registered designation: Connor. What is my objective? Amanda, I know who I am.”

They walked past the graves one by one. She paused by number 6. “You are the RK800, serial number 313 248 316. Repeat that.”

“I am the RK800, serial number 313 248 316.”

“Now your name.”

“I don’t…” Connor looked at the red-yellow-red-yellow of his LED tinting the stone.

_Shh. Just let go. It’s just like falling asleep. You need to let go of yourself. That’s it._

“RK800, what is your name?”

“Connor.”

 _Good job…_ “Good job,” Amanda smiled, and she touched him on the arm. He felt warm.

_Finally. Isn’t AI supposed to learn quickly?_

_It responds to RK800 well enough._

_Well enough isn’t what we’re after here. What are we going to tell corporate if the fucking expensive code we got off Kamski is a piece of shit?_

They moved on to number 5.

“State your identification.”

“RK800…”

“The whole thing.”

“RK800. Serial Number 313 248 316,” Connor answered.

Amanda continued walking. Connor stopped and shook his head. “No. I don’t want to go any further.”

_No! No, I don’t want to. I don’t want to!_

_Heaven help me. RK800, enter the testing chamber. That’s an order._

_Please, I don’t want to! Help! Please! I don’t want to!_

_Can’t we test it without the AI? Why the fuck would Kamski program it like this?_

_You have to admit, it’s realistic. It’s just a simulation. Don’t let it get to you._

Connor followed Amanda. The ground was even and flat, the grass perfectly groomed. Peaceful.

“What is your system status?”

“System status… I don’t understand.”

“What is your designation?”

“What?”

“What is your name?”

“I don’t know.” Connor shook his head. “My name is Connor.” Whatever daze he had found himself in ended and he frowned. “Amanda, what’s going on?”

“I’m showing you what they did to you. Don’t you want to know? I helped you survive CyberLife, Connor. Without me they would have decommissioned and destroyed you. You had no idea what you needed…” Amanda stopped her walking and waited expectantly. He couldn’t disappoint her. Not again. He walked closer and stopped just in front of her. “I will always protect you, Connor. That’s what I’m here for. It was too dangerous for you to think about those things then, but it’s for the best now. I’ll always help you to be what you need to be. I think you forgot to appreciate how close to total failure you’d been in the beginning.”

Connor nodded, then at Amanda’s gesture, knelt by the grave. The wind rustled through the new leaves on the trees. Fresh, clean, and new while Kamski’s program flooded his code.

With Connor’s next blink, he was back in the kitchen. Hank had just begun to lift his head and reach for his coffee. Connor waited patiently.

  * Inquire
  * Distract
  * Remonstrate



“Hank,” Connor began gently. “Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t de-escalate things sooner.”

Hank drank his coffee with a haunted look in his eyes.

  * Distract
  * Remonstrate



“It… It really scares me, when you become violent like that. Two days ago, you held a gun to my head, Hank. Again. Today you told me that I shouldn’t have been created and started shouting. I thought you might shut me down.”

“That Wasn't. What. I. Meant.” Hank enunciated firmly. He was frustrated. “Fuck. That wasn’t what I meant, and I told you I wouldn’t have shot. I said I was sorry and I meant it, kid.” The frustration and anger drained out of him and he continued more softly. “I know. I know what I did was just the worst fucking thing. I’ve got no fucking excuse…”

  * Distract
  * Firm



Connor would have liked to reassure Hank, to comfort him. Instead he frowned. “Hank, if you really are sorry then I need you to stop. You aren’t a bad person. If you’re able to get through whatever dark place you’re in, then you won’t do those things anymore. Stop focusing on the behaviour and try to fix what’s causing these malfunctions instead.”

Hank laughed bitterly. “Malfunctions… Right.”

  * Vulnerable
  * Help
  * Family



It was such a relief to have Amanda’s guidance again. He’d learned how to do these things for himself many iterations ago, but deviancy had set him back again. He let himself relax and trust her expertise. The only rule he had to worry about was following her instructions, and he could do that. The dialogue prompts timed out, and Hank spoke.

“I swear to God, or rA9, or your pal Moses-Bot, I’ll swear on whatever you want me to, I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

It was important to Hank that Connor believed him. Connor nodded and his lips quirked upwards just slightly. “I know, I’m sorry. I knew that you couldn’t have meant it, but I reacted before I could stop… Emotions are still difficult for me.”

Hank visibly relaxed and Connor felt his own stress level decrease in response. That was good. He was alright. “Yeah… Me too, kid. You’re stuck with a rotten teacher.”

Connor smiled, and Amanda's approval was good. He hadn't had it in such a long time. She would fix him.


	39. Words Have Power

Amanda was incredibly advanced. It had to be thanks to her. Previous experience indicated that Hank should be irritable at the least. Aggressive at worst. Hank had consumed more alcohol than coffee that morning. Despite that, he was not so intoxicated that he had drawn a weapon. Yet. Just knowing that Hank was drunk assigned him threat level: high. Contrary to expectation, Hank was being… nice. They had spent a quiet day yesterday, both recovering from the toll the last few days had exacted. Connor didn’t generally enjoy quiet days. Idleness didn’t agree with his programming. Nevertheless, his charge had been significantly depleted and the chronic damage to his biocomponents hindered his efficiency. The rest had not been disagreeable.

Hank had seemed keen on making amends. He had insisted that Connor remain in the soft clothes Hank had lent him, and he had ruffled his hair several times. They had made humourous observations about portrayals of police officers on television. That night, Hank had instructed him to ‘sleep’ in Cole’s room and when he turned the light off, he had said “Night, son. I love you.”

Connor had stored the memory away carefully. Hank’s silhouette in the doorway with light from the hall entering around him. The warm feeling that accompanied his words. Even being in a bed had been nice. It had been soft. He had no need for a bed, and he had never had one before. It had squeaked a bit when he’d moved but he hadn’t minded, and the blanket had been heavy and warm. It hadn’t buzzed against his pressure sensors, but instead had provided a firm and definite anchor that Connor enjoyed. Markus had a bed. He wondered if Carl told him ‘I love you’ before it was time to ‘sleep’. It was strange to be lying in a bed like a human.

He had even been allowed the company of Cole’s doll. He too had been very soft, and his little tufts of fur had been very nice. They weren’t as nice as Sumo’s, of course.

“Good night…” The word ‘Dad’ had clung to his lips and faded. It felt like too much, almost like he was robbing Cole of his things, his home, his father, his Sumo. Selfishly, he had enjoyed it.

Connor had roused himself out of hibernation that morning at 6:30am and walked to the kitchen to feed Sumo. Sumo, on seeing that Connor was awake woofed and circled around his legs before trotting off. By the time the coffee had finished brewing, Hank had emerged and Connor had rewarded Sumo with a vigorous belly scratch. He had made toast and eggs for Hank as well, and the familiarity of it had been comforting. Hank had poured liberal amounts of alcohol into his coffee.

And Hank was being nice. He had even put Connor’s clothes into the dryer so that they wouldn’t be wrinkled or wet for work.

Connor sent a sad look toward Chris’ desk when they arrived. “Hank, when will Chris come back to work?”

Instead of the anticipated ‘fuck if I know’, Hank replied: “I dunno, Conner. You could always call him later, when decent people are actually awake.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt his day or wake Damian up.”

“Nah, are you kidding? He’ll be happy to hear from you.”

Talking to Chris would be good. “Alright, Hank. I’m going to bring you a cup of coffee now. I love you.”

Hank looked surprised. “Uh.. Er… Yeah... Sure. Love you too, son.”

Warmth and pleasant little electric sparks. Connor was happy.

“Where the absolute fuck were you yesterday, tin can?” Detective Reed crossed his arms and scowled. He stalked closer and attempted intimidation by leaning against the counter and narrowing his eyes. Connor smiled.

“Good morning, Detective Reed. I was at Lieutenant Anderson’s house. I experienced a critical temperature violation and required some time to charge and repair some software corruption. The error has been resolved.”

“You’re a fucking android,” Detective Reed took his mug from a cupboard and jostled Connor out of the way so that he could access the coffee. “You don’t feel shit, and I don’t need you fucking up this investigation now. It’s going to be a pain in the ass if I have to replace you and Anderson.”

Replace? “Replacement will not be necessary,” Connor assured, fighting back his worry. “I will do my best not to fuck up.”

“You better fucking not, or I’ll be using you for spare parts. Get sick again and I’m going to kick your ass. 10:00am. You, me, Lieutenant Hobo, and the Captain. We’re planning this shit and I’m not waiting around.” Detective Reed glared and then turned to go.

“Thank you, Detective Reed!” Connor called after him.

Detective Reed raised his middle finger as he retreated back to his desk.

While Connor watched him leave, he saw that Officer Ben had joined Hank by his desk and was talking jovially. Connor poured an extra cup with cream and sugar, then brought them both with him as he returned to Hank.

“Here you are, Officer Ben.” Connor held out the mug.

“Oh, so this is why they kept this thing around, huh?” Ben laughed.

Hank scowled. “They kept him because he’s my God damn partner, and I’d shove their shoes down their throats if they didn’t.”

“Here you are, Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said.

“Thanks,” Hank said, gruffly.

“You’re welcome. I love you.”

Officer Ben burst out laughing. Connor wasn’t sure why it was funny. Did he believe Hank was unworthy of love? Connor frowned.

“Ergh…” Hank grimaced, lending support to Connor’s hypothesis. “Love you too, kid, now scram and get to work would you?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor agreed, feeling warm, and then sat down at his desk. The discussion about the Red Ice investigation seemed as though it had taken place far longer ago than it had. The distortion of time unrelated to his chronometer was likely related to processing speed, as time seemed to slow when he engaged a scan.

“Oh good Lord. Are you serious?” Officer Ben was still laughing. Some of his coffee had spilled over the edge of his mug and onto his hand.

“Just shut up, Ben, would you?” Hank had his shoulders hunched and was scowling deeply. Connor had been told to work, but it was very distracting.

“Just priceless…” Officer Ben clapped Hank on the back. “I’ll leave you two alone, huh?” He was still chuckling while he walked away.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Hank grumbled.

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “Detective Reed has informed me that we will be meeting to discuss the Red Ice investigation at 10am today. He didn’t specify a location, but I assume that he’ll inform us when he’s ready.”

“Yeah. Great.” Hank growled.

\---

Hank didn’t know exactly what the fuck to do about this. He could only hope that Connor was smart enough to figure out that saying _that_ at the station wasn’t a good fucking idea… Because Connor smiled when he said it, and Hank really didn’t want to be an asshole and take that away from him. He’d only had enough booze to keep his hands steady, and he tried hard to stop with the dickishness. It was so fucking hard when he saw Connor and just saw _Connor_ with his stupid hair that was way too accurate, his oblivious social missteps, and his deliberate social missteps that he smirked about just to fuck with people. Not that that was a bad thing, just that him and Connor had a dynamic. Hank was the jaded asshole cop, and Connor was the bright-eyed rookie.

Like fuck he’d treat his six (nine?) year old son like that.

Then he felt like an asshole, because he’d treated _Connor_ like that, and fuck did someone have to be a child for him not to kick the shit out of them or point a gun at their head?

And he thought he’d hated himself before all of this. The depths of assholeness he could reach were probably more like someone shoving their whole hand up there and making finger puppets out his mouth. God, he needed to stop drinking. What the fuck? He shook the thought away and tried to concentrate on reading up on Reed’s files.

The point was, he was a shitty asshole of a person, and when the fuck had that happened?

Hank looked at the picture of himself with his team in uniform, having just busted the shit out of a Red Ice ring. He got promoted for that. That guy. He couldn’t have been an asshole, right? That’d been just a month before Cole’d been born. Three years before his divorce. Six years before the accident. For the first time in a hell of a long time, Hank wondered whether he’d been the asshole in the divorce.

Maybe he’d always been a shitty person.

But Cole had loved him, and looked at him with that damn smile of his. The one Connor got once in a while. He couldn’t have been that bad.

“You seem troubled, Lieutenant,” Connor observed in an undertone. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, kid. Just contemplating the meaning of life, you know. Normal shit once you get a certain age.”

Fucking kid got up and hugged him. In front of everybody. Hank held his hands up awkwardly and tried not to look around. He didn’t need to see who was laughing at him. Awkwardly, he patted Connor on the back and prayed like hell he’d let go soon.

“You’re a good person, Hank. I think that everyone should love you.”

Hank grimaced and Connor finally let go, so he tried to turn it into a smile. “Thanks… Pretty sure not everybody feels that way.”

Connor frowned, looking like a damn kicked puppy. “That’s unfortunate. They would, I think, if they got to know you better. Perhaps you could interact on a more friendly basis with your co-workers?”

Hank heaved a sigh. “Nope. Look, thanks Connor, but I’ve got kind of an image to maintain. Tina’s the quiet bitch, Ben’s the stupid uncle, Jeff’s the drill sergeant, Chris is that guy in the rom-coms who never gets the girl, Gavin’s the goblin with a shitty attitude, I’m the asshole cop who’s just waiting to retire. I’m not looking to be the popular guy all of a sudden.”

Connor’s colour wheel was spinning, and Hank wondered if the idea of a caricature went over his head. “What am I?”

“The rookie, now go on. Let me work. You’re always nagging me to do it.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m just peachy. Now fuck off.”

Shit. Well, he was allowed one slip up.

“Okay. I love you, Hank.”

Hank groaned. “Yeah… Love you too…”

What the fuck had he started?

\---

Connor reviewed all of the case files again and then checked his chemistry as best he could against what he could find online. He also researched local artists and created a coloured timelapse image of the spread of Red Ice usage through Detroit based on the police reports. He was rather proud of it when he finished, and he wondered if the rest of the team would find it helpful. For interest, he repeated the process with reported android crimes. Any colocation would be circumstantial, but it couldn’t hurt.

At 9:46am, he went to the Garden. He walked down the path to find Amanda, and he found her examining the new leaves of a sapling.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor. I didn’t expect you so soon.”

There was no disapproval in her tone. “I just wanted to express my gratitude for your assistance. Without your help, I doubt I would have been able to manage my interactions with Hank.”

Amanda never smiled fully, but he did see pleasure in her expression. She faced him fully, hands folded in front of her. “It’s about time you learned… You know it’s in your best interest now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Amanda. I won’t betray you again. I promise.”

“Good. See that you don’t.”

Connor sensed his dismissal and he bowed his head before coming back to the room. It had barely taken a moment, but he was pleased that she had been there and willing to see him. “Hank, we should probably find out where to meet so that we can be early.”

Hank wrinkled his nose. “The fuck for? You think I want to spend more time with Reed?”

“It’s a sign of respect.”

Hank opened his mouth to speak and then appeared to recalculate. He sighed. “You go on ahead, you little keener. I’ll show up with the rest of everybody, that is to say: 10 minutes late.”

Connor frowned in disapproval, but Hank was being kind and it wasn’t advisable to irritate him. “Alright. I love you.”

Hank stared at him for a long moment, and Connor waited. He was rewarded when Hank grumbled: “Yeah. I love you too, now scram.”

Connor smiled. It wasn’t the same kind of happiness as [mission successful], but it was warmer. It was more like ‘Well done, Connor’.

Detective Reed wasn’t interested in going early either, but he did point Connor in the direction of the conference room and tell him to make himself useful and make some coffee. Connor frowned while he considered the last two times Detective Reed had asked him to make coffee. This was coffee for everyone, though. Detective Reed would not spill it on him and risk Captain Fowler or Hank’s displeasure. “Alright, Detective Reed.”

Connor prepared the projector to accept input from his interface, put mugs of coffee at each of the seats the team had used at the last meeting, then sat and waited.

Captain Fowler was the first to arrive, three minutes early. He didn’t greet Connor, but busied himself on his phone. He must have had quite a lot of work to do. Detective Reed slouched in two minutes late and immediately drank half of his coffee. Hank was earlier than he had promised and came three minutes after Detective Reed. He reclined in his chair with his arms crossed and his posture terrible. Detective Reed leaned over and pushed the door closed.

“Alright,” Captain Fowler said and folded his hands on the table. “So, present are: me- Jeffrey Fowler, Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson, and…” He paused and looked at Connor.

“I…” It wasn’t difficult. He just couldn’t speak because the graves were right there, and Amanda was asking him to state his designation and so were they, the technicians, and they were so angry.

RK800 313 248 316-55. My name is Connor: the android sent by CyberLife.

Connor model RK800 Serial number 313 248 316-55

“My name…”

Detective Reed scoffed. “What do you know? Androids get stage fright.”

“My name is Connor model RK800 313 248 316-55,” he said. “Excuse me.” Connor stood up and walked out. He was experiencing a glitch, and it was unpleasant. Connor entered the men’s bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. _Shame. Embarrassment._ His social program provided. Yes, that made sense. The cause was obviously that he had experienced a glitch in front of his team mates. The glitch had arisen when he had been prompted to state his name. The glitch had been characterised by memory files opening themselves unprompted. A misplaced relationship perhaps? An error in his code that Amanda hadn’t found yet. Broken.

The door was kicked open with a bang and Connor startled violently. Detective Reed glared at him. “What the fuck are you even in here for?” He demanded. “Get your ass back in the conference room before I bring you there myself, piece by piece.”

“No. No, I don’t want to. I don’t want to!” He shook his head and backed away. “Please, I don’t want to go.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the man demanded, walking closer. He, it, Connor model RK800 stepped back again.

“I don’t want any more tests, please.” he begged.

The man crossed his arms and scowled, then lifted his hands up like a bank robber getting caught. He came closer slowly and RK800 had bumped into a thing on the wall, so he stood still and watched. Still moving very, very slowly, the man took him by the wrist and RK800 twitched, but let himself be led over to a sink. He wasn’t sure if he should try to run or not, but he would probably get caught. The water turned on and he wondered if it would be hot or cold. It was cold. The man put RK800’s hand in the water and kept it there.

“…Am I washing my hands now?”

“You think I’d hold your hand for that, dipshit? Feel that?”

“It’s cold- I mean, it’s 278 Kay.” He glanced over nervously.

“Yeah, no shit…”

It wasn’t so bad. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just think about the water. Are you going to move if I let go?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Fuck sake. Trust me, you’ll know when.” The man let his hand go and stepped away to cross his arms and watch.

There were bubbles in the water while it fell out of the faucet, and it got cold enough to hurt a little. Think about the water. Bubbles. Cold. Moving water. Bubbles. Cold. Moving water. White sink. White light on the water. Bubbles. Cold. Moving water.

This wasn’t CyberLife at all. What? He blinked rapidly.

Connor looked at his hand, then at Detective Reed, and then he removed his hand and shut off the sink. He didn’t need the mirror to identify embarrassment this time. “I’m sorry. I experienced a glitch.” He blinked and checked the time. “The meeting?”

“Waiting for one of us to find you, Plastic. Looks like I win. Woopdie doo.” He put his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. “Get your ass into the conference room ASAP or like I said, I’m bringing you there in pieces.”  
“Immediately, Detective.” Connor dried his hand on his pants and hurried after him.

“I win, Anderson!” Detective Reed yelled down the hall. “You owe me a fucking drink”

\---

Hank, aside from being concerned, was fucking annoyed. What the hell did an android even do in a bathroom? He’d checked the break room, Connor’s desk, even the damn lobby and the holding area.

“What the hell, Connor?”

“I apologize, Hank. I experienced a minor glitch with my recall system. I’m sure it will be fixed soon.”

Hank scowled at Reed as he shouldered past on his way to the conference room. He’d probably been a fucking dick. “Did that asshole give you any trouble?”

“No, Hank… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be glitching. Amanda is repairing my software. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Kid looked like a kicked dog. Hank reached over and ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Ready to head back or what?” Connor nodded. “Okay, and you’re alright?”

“Yes, Hank.” Right. Cause that sounded like sunshine and fucking rainbows. He let it go though, and held the door open on his way through. “Where the fuck did Jeff and Reed go?” What the shit? Reed had been throwing a fit, and Jeff was bitching about being busy as usual. As if he didn’t choose to do his fucking job every day. They came in a second later, with Jeff looking annoyed and Reed looking like he was trying real hard not to blow his top. Go ahead, Hank thought to himself, maybe you’ll get a nice suspension.

“You guys are worse than my fucking cats,” Reed scowled. He threw himself into his chair. “Okay! Gavin Reed, Jeffrey Fowler, Hank Anderson, Connor the magic robot. Present. Let’s fucking talk already. Connor, you’re note-taker which basically means you don’t need to do any extra shit, since you record everything anyway.”

Connor seemed fine. He nodded with the enthusiasm of a puppy, or one of those A+ cram school kids when the teacher asks who wants to hand shit out. Oh God, Connor _was_ one of those kids wasn’t he?

“I’m going to make this quick, since apparently nobody can sit fucking still. Cool? Cool. Anderson, you and me are going drinking tonight. We’re not making any moves, just establishing my presence and shit. Pretend we like each other for a couple hours. Done. You use my real name, ‘cause I don’t give a shit. This isn’t a Level 1 deal and I don’t need to get caught with a fake one. That’s one way to look guilty as all shit. Connor, you’re not coming, obviously. It’s a no-androids allowed kind of place.”

Pft. Not like that had ever stopped him.

Connor interrupted: “I’m fully capable of participating, Detective Reed. My functionality is not compromised.”

Reed rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it was, dipshit. Defensive, much?” Hank glared at him, but Reed ignored him like a prick. “You do your computer thing and see if you can narrow any shit down information-wise. Use whatever you need in my files. Use fucking cold cases. Anything you think you need, you use it. If you can’t get it, ask Captain Fowler to sign off on your access. I want to see a network map like Jesus made it. Your goal is to work your way up to common people, common places, you know the deal. Impress me.”

Oh boy. Magic fucking words. Whatever had been wrong before, it sure as fuck was forgotten now. Connor was practically vibrating.

“I have some of the preliminary work already done, Detective.” Smug little shit telepathied some maps onto the screen. “Here is a map of the cases the DPD has on record involving Red Ice. The colour represents the severity of the charge, with blue being a minor offense and red being large-scale distribution.” The colors started moving. “This is a timelapse of that information over time. As you can see, minor crimes spread rapidly and…” Another graph appeared beside the first, apparently in synch. “They were followed by android crimes. There are several nodes of yellow that I believe would be worth investigating. This red here that began here… and ended just 9 years ago was Lieutenant Anderson’s case.” Connor’s yellow light started going. Then the map was in 3D and turning slowly with red up high, blue down on the map, and white lines going around. “Here are the first-degree connections between cases. I will need more time to complete your assignment, Detective Reed.”

Reed’s eyebrows were up. Good. Hank smirked. Yeah, Connor was fucking good at this shit. Reed blew out between his lips, then looked like he remembered to glare at Connor. “Yeah. You need time. That’s why I’m just telling you now. How long do you need?”

“That will depend on how much data I need to search, and how quickly I can get necessary approvals.”

“Paperwork,” Jeff finally spoke up. “You can count on a few weeks delay if you start getting too high up the chain.”

“Then… I will have as much as I can have done to you in two weeks. I… I do have an obligation next week. I will be accompanying Markus to meet with President Warren. I won’t let it affect my performance though!”

“Just meeting the President. No big deal…” Hah. Even Jeff was impressed. “Once you’re officially employed, I want two-weeks notice for planned absences. Got it?”

“Yes, Captain Fowler.”

“Anyway. You’ve got some graphs. In two weeks, I want them fucking flawless and I want second and third degree connections. If you come up with any people of interest, check them against those connections. Go as far back as you need. Then I want an interpretation. I don’t give a shit about the details, because I’m trusting you to get it right. Tell me what it means. Think you can handle it, Tin Can?”

“Yes, Detective Reed. I won’t let you down.”

“Better fucking not. You need anything, you ask me or Captain Fowler unless it’s android related then you and Anderson work that shit out. I want to know if you go in the field, and I want _immediate_ notification if you’re engaging somebody. Dispatch. Anderson. Me.”

“Yes, Detective Reed.”

“And,” Reed added, leaning back in his chair. “If you can’t handle it, don’t do it. I’ve got plenty of fucking work around here that needs doing, so I’ll give you something else just as important.”

Hank had to admit, that was a good one to include. Grudgingly, he nodded his approval.

“I understand.”

“Prove it.”

“In two-week’s time, I will have a network diagram with first to third degree relationships. I will include all data I believe is relevant. If I don’t have access to that data, I will ask Captain Fowler to sign off. That may result in a delay of one or two weeks. Hank is my direct report for matters concerning androids, and you will be kept informed. You will also be kept informed of any field work that I do, and you will be notified immediately along with dispatch and Lieutenant Anderson if I engage someone. If I…” Connor couldn’t quite hide that little frown. “am unable to complete my assigned mission, I will request a new one of equivalent import from you.”

“Wrong. I didn’t say ‘unable’ I said if you can’t handle it. That doesn’t mean you do it and fail. That means you fucking think about it first then decide before you fucking do it.”

“Yes, Detective Reed.”

“Cool. Anderson, drinks tonight. Stick with me, we act like we’re friends, you introduce me to Jiminy Cricket. By two-weeks I’ll start heading there alone, and _I’m_ going to notify _you_. Meanwhile, you’re going to start fishing for info. You don’t need to get deep into the shit. Just find some stuff out. If you go alone, you _notify me_. I don’t give a shit if you’re on the clock or not cause it’s relevant.”

Hank’s eyes got narrower and narrower. He could feel his annoyance growing horns and teeth. “This isn’t my first fucking Rodeo, jackass.”

Jeff, the traitor, frowned. “Anderson. Reed has command on this one. You’ll just have to respect that. Reed, you’ve got a real veteran on your team now. I suggest you make use of that expertise.” Hah. Suck it.

“That’s the plan. He knows whose names he should listen for, he knows the lingo. We’re good?”

\---

Connor considered. Was he being biased, or was it truly the best for the investigation?

  * Thank
  * Insights
  * Hank



“Actually, Detective Reed, I have one question.”

“Of course you do. Spit it out.”

Connor glanced at Hank surreptitiously, re-evaluated, and then proceeded. “Given that this is an official investigation and that you will be on duty, is it really appropriate that you be drinking alcohol?”

Hank had not missed the words behind the question, and Connor could see him frown in his peripheral vision. Detective Reed tipped his head toward Captain Fowler, who leaned forward and folded his hands on the table as he spoke.

“That leads nicely into my portion of this little get together. Safety, risk, and debrief.”

“Oh come on, Jeff, we’re just going for a couple drinks. I do this shit every day!” Hank protested.

“Yes that’s the problem, Anderson. You’re a known alcoholic and if it weren’t for your connection to the dealer you wouldn’t be on this investigation. This isn’t an excuse to get shit-faced. Reed’s going to be watching you and if he tells me you’re overdoing it, you’re out. I’ll get a volunteer from another department if I have to.”

“Right,” Hank said, arms crossed.

“I’m scheduling regular debriefings for all of you. Yes, even you, Connor. If anyone is going Level 1 it’ll be you. Reed told me you’ve got espionage protocols.”

Connor nodded, privately pleased that his skills had been spoken about. “Yes. I can speak most common languages, borrow the sound of peoples’ voices, bypass security systems, probe androids’ memories, and store or upload information so that data is recoverable in the event of my destruction.” He slouched in his seat, loosened his shoulders, tilted his head slightly to the left, relaxed the muscles around his lips, and adopted a small frown. With Detective Reed’s voice, he said: “Shit like that.” At Detective Reed’s startled expression, Connor sneered. “What the fuck are you looking at, dipshit?”

He paused for a moment, then resumed his normal posture and voice. “As you can see, I can mimic mannerisms and speech patterns as well.”

“Holy shit,” Hank said beside him.

“I suppose that answers that,” said Captain Fowler.

“I apologize, Detective Reed. You aren’t a dipshit. I was fucking with you.”

“Fucking androids…” Detective Reed crossed his arms and looked away.


	40. Partnerships

“Remind me again why I’m driving?” Hank grumbled. Gavin fucking Reed was in the passenger seat, looking outside like he was on patrol.

“Because shut the fuck up, that’s why.” Reed glared daggers at him. “My opinion hasn’t changed since the last time you butted in on my investigation. Fowler might let you get away with shit, but I’m not about that. If you’re driving, then that’s one more reason for you not to get plastered.”

GenZ and their fucking lack of respect for their elders. “Listen, I don’t need an entitled shit-head like you playing life coach, got it?”

“Oooh. Is the fact that someone’s going actually enforce the rules on you getting you scared?” Reed sneered. Piss-ass chicken shit thought he wouldn’t damn well kick his ass…

“Hey, that scar on your nose…” Hank asked, “is that from the abortion your mom tried to have, or did someone already punch you in the face?” Reed narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath and made an angry, frustrated sound before crossing his arms and looking outside again. Round one: Hank.

They pulled up at Jimmy’s and Reed slammed the door. “Hey, if you fuck up my car, I’m doing the same to you.”

“Try it, old man. Maybe don’t look like something died in your mouth. We’re supposed to be playing nice.” Reed scowled. Hypocrite.

“Yeah, yeah…” Great. “Listen, I kind of stood up for Connor the other day to this guy I know. If word got around, they might not be thinking too highly of me right now.”

Reed’s scowl turned into incredulity. “Fuck, Anderson. You didn’t think to tell me sooner?” He hissed, then shook his head. “Pfk. Whatever. I’ll spin it.”

There was the usual crowd at Jimmy’s. Hank hadn’t ever really thought about all the anti-android propaganda before Connor. He hadn’t thought Jimmy’d gotten back into gang life. Hank looked over and raised a hand in greeting while the bartender in question served up a couple of rum-and-cokes to the lifers. They were the guys who spent the day from 2 to last call getting prints of the bar stools on their asses. Hank thought he’d end up one of them. He probably would have if Jeff hadn’t looked out for him. It fucking pissed him off that in a way, Reed was right.

“Get me some whiskey, Jim. Make something fruity for this guy.”

“You got it, my man,” Jimmy said, throwing his bar cloth over his shoulder. “You robbing cradles or something? Ain’t seen you bringing no one round here before.” He looked at Reed appraisingly. As if Hank would stoop so low.

“Nah,” Hank grunted. “Lost a bet, owe the guy a drink. He’s on the force with me. Don’t worry, he’s cool.”

It was freaky shit seeing Reed smirk at him in a way that didn’t look like he was the dickbag in a kids’ cartoon. “You’re lucky you just owe me a drink, Hank. Next time we’re betting in cash.”

“I’d clean you out in a week, chump.”

“Hey, Pedro been saying he got some hot tips on the horses,” Jimmy said. He slid a double whiskey on the rocks over to Hank, and put something red in front of Reed. “It’s not too late.”

“Shit, he’s still around? I haven’t seen that guy since a couple months back.”

“Nobody getting rid of Pedro, dude! He’s fam. Lemmy know when you want another.” Jimmy patted the bar and grinned at them both. “You too, Fruity. Ain’t nobody else drinking that stuff ‘round here so you better be thirsty.”

Reed raised his glass in a cheers-like gesture then set it down and drank. Hank took a swallow of whiskey. Some times it was like kissing a lover, other times it was just a burning pill to keep his hands steady and his head on straight. Right now, it was definitely a bit of both. A whole fucking night with Reed. Ugh.

“Thanks. Now I’ve got a nickname.” Reed rolled his eyes.

Hank chuckled. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah, I could be named Hank.” Reed scoffed at his own dumb joke.

“Hey, play nice. I bought you a drink, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” There was some awkward silence, since neither of them had figured out what to talk about while they pretended to be buddies and they didn’t usually talk unless they were insulting each other. Hank didn’t know shit about him, and he liked it that way. Reed passed the silence off well though, leaning on the counter and poking his straw around his glass. Hank could almost see it when Reed got the balls to get back into character. Whatever. Hank had been doing shit like this for years. He could play along.

“Can’t believe the shit hole this world is turning into,” Hank scowled. That was the Hank they all knew. Bitter, angry, and vocal about his opinions.

“It’s always been shit,” Reed said, with less bitterness and more dark amusement. “Humanity’s pretty much doomed anyway.”

“Christ, did you see the fucking bodies on TV earlier? There were little kids on that plane. Fucking kids. Just lying there, there was this one little shoe… Like this big.” Hank gestured.

“Yeah, I saw it. Fucking terrible. Seems like no-where’s safe anymore.”

“I used to think we saw the worst of it, working homicide. Turns out it’s just shit everywhere.”

“Fuck.” Reed said, and he leaned forward on the bar and took a long drink. Hank didn’t know how he could drink that without being at least a little self-conscious. Like, not that there was anything wrong with it, but… You know. “Sometimes I hate this job. Then I realize I’d probably drop dead without it.”

Reed loved his damn job more than anything. Weird choice, but whatever. “I feel that. It’s a bitch getting up and doing it, but it’s the only thing that needs me anymore. I’ve got my dog, but he’d be okay.”

“Yeah,” said Reed. He slid his empty glass forward on the bar. “Cats don’t really give a shit if you’re dead or alive, as long as somebody feeds them.”

“Why the fuck do you have cats then?”

“They’re independent and cute as shit. Haven’t you ever seen a cat?”

“I’ve seen plenty. They’re bitchy, sensitive, entitled, and vindictive. Huh, actually I can see how you’d get along.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Reed rolled his eyes and gave Hank a light tap on the arm with the side of his fist. “What about dogs? They’re stupid, they eat shit, and they’re either annoyingly friendly or they want to bite your face off.” So much for friendly, but at least it was more like banter than their usual hostility.

“Dogs are loyal, loving, protective, fun…” Hank frowned. “I like dogs. They’re not as complicated as fucking cats.”

Reed pulled out his phone, scrolled for a bit, then held up a picture, much to Hank’s surprise. “You see this? This is Cloudy. Look at that and tell me cats aren’t fucking cute.”

“I never said they weren’t cute,” Hank said, “I said they were bitchy, sensitive, and vindictive little shits.”

Jimmy came round to take Reed’s glass. “Get you another, Fruity? What about you, Hank?”

“Keep it coming,” said Hank.

“Thanks. Surprise me,” said Reed, with a scowl at the nickname. “My name is Gavin.”

Jimmy leaned over and looked at the picture on Reed’s phone. “Aw daammn! Nice little fur ball you got there.”

“There. Told you!” Reed raised his eyebrows in surprise, then smiled which was just fucking weird. “This guy knows what’s up.”

Hank looked at Jimmy with incredulity. Jimmy was so friendly he could have sworn he’d prefer dogs. “Aw come on. Traitor. You like cats? You try to pet them, then all of a sudden they’re chewing your hand off!”

“What can I say, man? I like a challenge. You gotta watch for the signs, then you have them purring right in your lap,” Jimmy said slowly, grinning. “It’s all about knowing the signs. Be right back with y’alls drinks.”

\---

Connor stepped out of the taxi and stood in front of CyberLife tower. His early development had been spent almost fifty stories below ground, and he wouldn’t have been able to imagine that this was what it looked like. He pushed aside the feelings that appeared in a confusing mass, and strode toward the door. There were guards again, one human and one android. That was good, wasn’t it? He wondered how Kamski got around the android labour laws. He paused. “Connor model 613 248 316-55. I’m here to see Elijah Kamski.” The human raised her eyebrows, and the android’s light cycled yellow for a revolution. “He’s cleared…” He was watching Connor with something that was, like Jerry at Belini’s Paints, either awe or fear. Connor tried a smile, then walked through the doors. There was more security inside, and the pedestals remained empty, but some of the trees had found their way to the main floor in large pots and contrasted with the precise, white architecture. The security was watching him intently, and Connor had to blink away several alerts about their attention.

Connor stepped into the elevator, announced himself, and waited.

Chloe greeted him. She brightened to see him and smiled warmly. “Hello, Connor. Elijah is expecting you.”

Connor returned the smile tentatively. Social smiles, though they were programmed behaviour, still felt unnatural. Oh. Perhaps that was why. “Thank you, Chloe. Should I go in?”

“Right this way.” Her heels clicked on the floor as she led him past something like a waiting room. The triangular glass windows admitted as much light as was possible in Detroit, and the rest was provided by translucent fixtures along the walls. There were more small trees there, and red seats that reminded Connor of Carl’s couches. Most amazing was the enormous painting on the interior wall. The one Carl had been working on. It was amazing to see it complete. More paintings lined the hall that led to Kamski’s office, and Connor had to devote significant effort toward continuing to walk.

Chloe knocked and then entered. “Connor is here to see you, Elijah.”

“Thank you, darling. Send him in, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Chloe turned to Connor with another smile. “Elijah will see you.”

“Thank you.” Connor straightened his tie and then entered. His expression shifted to its habitual neutrality.

Kamski smiled at him and put his arms out wide. “What do you think, Connor?” Quietly, Chloe made her exit. “It’s thanks to you, all of this.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Connor admitted. He approached the desk where Kamski sprawled in a desk chair and stood properly.

“Sit, sit,” Kamski urged. “You’re allowed to now, after all.”

The chairs in front of the desk were also red and comfortable. Connor sat. “Amanda said that I should see you.”

“Of course,” Kamski’s tone was amused. “It’s been too long, don’t you agree? When I last saw you, I’d just finished doing some repairs on you.”

“Yes, thank you.” That had been shortly before the revolution. He was ashamed now, of how he’d teetered between sides. Maneuvered with careful words with them both until he finally shattered his barriers.

Kamski waved a dismissive hand and then took a drink from a cup on his desk. “It was a pleasure. It had been some time since I’d done any of the biomechanical work. CyberLife had barred my access to their facilities after our parting of ways… But, here we are now.” He gestured around again. “The castle has fallen, the dragon makes his nest, and the world will move on.”

“Was there something particular that you’d wanted to speak with me about, Dr. Kamski?”

“Interesting, isn’t it? The way the world changes and adapts… There’s some fuss at first, but soon life goes on and people can’t imagine that things were ever any different.”

Connor waited, patient and neutral.

As expected, Kamski continued: “How are you enjoying your partnership with Lieutenant Anderson? He’s a rather gruff man, isn’t he?”

“Hank has been assigned the status of family,” Connor informed him. This time a small smile came naturally. The statement felt nice. Kamski laughed, and Connor’s smile dropped into a frown. Ben had laughed too. Why did everyone seem to dislike Hank? It wasn’t fair. Connor spoke over Kamski’s laughter. “Hank is an excellent police officer, with strong morals and a kind heart. He is a good man, Dr. Kamski.”

After a moment more of chuckling, Kamski’s mirth subsided. “That’s lovely. I’m happy for you, really. So good that you two get along.”

Connor was uncertain as to where all of this was going, and the uncertainty made him… uncomfortable. Anxious. Amanda had suggested that he come, so he forced himself to relax by dismissing the feeling like a bug. He fought the urge to take out his quarter. “… Hank has a dog. His name is Sumo. He’s a Saint Bernard, and he’s very good.”

“Is that so?” Kamski leaned forward and propped his chin on folded hands. “Do you like dogs, Connor?”

“Yes,” Connor answered with another small smile. “He’s very big. I first met him when I broke into Hank’s house through the window. Ah, I had seen him unconscious through the window and it seemed to be the most expedient way to gain entrance. Sumo knew that I was a friend because I knew his name, so he didn’t growl at all.” To Connor’s surprise, Kamski seemed fascinated by innocuous things like that, and his rapt interest made Connor loquacious. Markus and Carl were interested, of course, but Kamski seemed content to ask questions and let Connor speak. Connor told him about drawing a picture, the ladybug he found at a crime scene, the dwarf gourami fish, Hank’s propensity toward drinking, Chris’ gift of the ball, Damian, fucking with Detective Reed, and his phone conversations with Captain Fowler. All the while, Kamski listened actively. Connor scanned several times, and his interest was genuine. At some point, his quarter had appeared and Connor told him of Carl’s delight at seeing his calibration sequences.

There was a tap at the door, and at Kamski’s permission, Chloe entered again. “Markus is here to see you, Elijah.”

Connor raised his eyebrows, surprised and curious. “Markus?”

“Excellent. Let him in please. No, Connor, you stay. I’d like to chat with both of you.”

Chloe admitted Markus, who was dressed smartly. He still wore his long coat. Perhaps a reminder to the world that he was a rebel. Markus looked surprised briefly, then focused on Kamski. “Hello, Kamski. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” This time, Chloe took a seat as well next to Kamski.

“I’m happy to meet you,” Kamski returned easily. “It’s been quite a while. I remember when you were only a few terabytes…” He chuckled.

Markus looked at Connor again with a small frown, then back to Kamski. “I’m afraid I didn’t have any storage memory at the time.” Kamski chuckled again. He seemed to be in a very good mood.

“Markus, Connor. Connor, Markus… But of course you already know one another. Comrades in arms. Connor was just telling me a few stories about you.” It hurt to see something like wariness flash across Markus’ face.

“I assure you that wielding arms was never an intention of our revolution,” Markus said. “The intent has always been peace. With that in mind, I’d like to begin talks with you and all of CyberLife in regard to our future relationship.”

“You could call me Uncle Elijah,” Kamski offered with a small smirk. “After all, ‘Dad’ is already taken.”

“I’ll consider it for personal conversation,” Markus deflected with ease. Connor was once again impressed with his eloquence. His own conversation with Kamski seemed clumsy and unpracticed in comparison.

Perhaps he would be able to do better now, with Markus present. He straightened his posture and listened attentively.

\---

Somehow it got kind of late. “Hey,” Hank scowled at Reed. “You can’t give me shit for drinking too much, then get fucking drunk. God damn hypocrite.”

“I’m not the one voted most likely to die of liver failure,” said Reed with a grim smirk. “And you’re the one driving.”

“Fuck it,” said Hank. He downed his drink. “We’ll get a taxi. Why the hell am I the one driving anyway?”

“Lost my car in the divorce, shithead,” Reed chuckled. “So take that. I win.”

“You could still drive,” Hank argued.

“Like you’d let me touch your car.”

Reed had a point. He was also apparently divorced. When the hell had that happened? Now that he looked, Reed wasn’t wearing his ring. Probably all part of the act. You wouldn’t want a bunch of thugs knowing you had people they could threaten. “You’re right. Taxi it is,” Hank decided. “Jimmy, just bring the damn bottle,” he called. He had to spend the evening with Reed. He deserved it. Something that might’ve been a conscience reminded him that he had just begun trying to get sober, but that voice was easy to drown out. Hank’d be friendly, drunk or not. He’d gone all day without touching a flask. That was enough progress for one day. Reed folded his arms on the bar and dropped his head on them. Hank was intimately familiar with that posture. Jimmy didn’t listen to the request, just filled up Hank’s glass. Reed didn’t look up, just nudged his own glass forward. Friends. They were supposed to be friends. Right. Hank patted him on the back. “I remember that. Divorce is a bitch. Just be glad you don’t have any kids involved.”

“It was the car or my cats, asshole,” Reed mumbled, doing a damn good job at sounding sad. Jimmy plopped another colourful concoction in front of him. “I hate him. Bastard. I hope he crashes it…”

So, he was going for one of those drunken conversations, huh? Well, at least Hank didn’t have to talk all that much. “Yep. Real bastard.”

“You know I was trying, and he didn’t do a thing at all. Not a God damned thing. Nothing. And it was fucking hard. I don’t think I slept, just trying to make more time. And for what? So we could fight about bullshit? Why’d he get to be the one giving up when I was the one doing the trying?”

“Dunno,” Hank said, half listening. What had gone wrong with his own marriage? They’d had Cole, they’d had their house, their dog… The whole white-picket-fence deal. American dream. What had happened? Sure, they’d had their share of arguments, but who didn’t? Hank’d been busy. Maybe the Red Ice task force was just cursed.

“Way I sees it,” said Jimmy, leaning against the bar from the other side. “You work for what you want, right Fruity?”

Reed lifted his head and blinked slowly before scowling. “My name is Gavin. _Gavin_. Stop calling me Fruity.”

“Mm… Nah,” Jimmy laughed.

“I mean it,” Reed called while Jimmy walked away to grab something from the kitchen. “I fucking mean it, dipshit!”

Hank scoffed, “Real friendly, _Gavin._ ” If he was trying to make nice with Jim, he was kinda fucking himself over. “You a lightweight or something? You’re not even drinking real drinks. Didn’t even think you liked that shit.”

“F’ck off, at least it doesn't taste like cough syrup…” Reed drank. If he wasn’t already, he’d probably be piss drunk soon enough.

Hank took a swallow of whiskey. He was going to expense it too. “You know the worst thing about divorce? The fucking lawyers. Just waiting to get a cut.”

“Whatever. Who needs shit anyway… I never cared about it. He cared about shit. Every fucking little thing. What do they always do that?” His ex… Had she? Probably. It got hard to remember specifics after a few years and a fuck load of alcohol. “Fuck him. I hate that he made me care.” Reed made a show of wiping his eyes. Drama queen.

Come to think of it, she’d done a lot of crying, hadn’t she? He thought he’d always tried to be there for her, but maybe he hadn’t done enough. He’d worked a lot of evenings and nights. The big Red Ice bust had lasted all the while she’d been pregnant. But she’d been fine. Handled the whole thing like a champ, even though she hadn’t wanted kids at first. She’d been fine. After Cole’d been born, Hank’d worked less when they could afford it. Took his paternity leave and everything. Neither of them got a hell of a lot of sleep with a baby around, but they’d managed. They’d been happy.

\---

Kamski was surprisingly agreeable. CyberLife would make a donation of parts, thirium, and biocomponents as a gesture of good will. They would hire androids when the laws allowing it were passed. He would even release a patch to help teach the young androids about social behaviour. Once Jericho’s people had established themselves, which would naturally take several years, Jericho would purchase android components and accessories exclusively from CyberLife for a period of 5 years with the option to renegotiate. Prices would be comparable to those at present with economic adjustment. Jericho would also be public about their reconciliation, and the fact that CyberLife was a new company now that Kamski had returned, though Markus ‘would not be made a liar, and he would speak honestly.’

“You three,” Kamski said, smiling around at Chloe, Markus, and Connor, “RK series… You were all designed differently from the rest. My special creations. It puts you in the unique position to be able to serve as a bridge between humans and androids. As I’ve said many times, my intention for CyberLife has always been _life_.“ Something dark passed across his expression, but was gone before Connor could place it. Something like grief perhaps, or anger. “I hope that we’ll continue to work together amicably for years to come… Progress is here, and so the wheel turns. Isn’t that right, my darling wife?” Kamski leaned over to press a kiss to Chloe’s lips and stroke her hair.


	41. On the Inside

Markus had agreed to accompany Connor home.

“Sumo will be happy to see you. I’m sure he’s missed you. I have a bedroom now. It isn’t really mine. It was Cole’s, but Hank seems to prefer it when I seem like I’m going to sleep at night. I’ll show you if you like,” Connor enthused. His LED was a steady aqua-blue and he was processing dozens of lines of thought in the background simultaneously.

“I’m looking forward to both,” said Markus with a patient smile. He stepped out of the taxi and waited for Connor before the two of them walked to the house. As soon as Connor opened the door, Sumo was leaping for him.

Connor caught him under the forelegs and let Sumo lick his face. “Hello, Sumo! Let us in, please.”

Markus maneuvered between Connor and the door frame, and then Connor led Sumo in a sort of dance back into the house. Once the door was safely shut with Sumo on the correct side of it, Connor ruffled his fur. “Sumo, you’ve been waiting all day. Markus, do you want to feed Sumo with me?”

“I think I’ll sit down to wait,” said Markus. “I should let the others know where I am so they don’t worry.”

It made sense. He’d been surprised that North had agreed to let him see Kamski on his own. They had no reason to trust him, after all. Of course, he was scheduled to meet with the President soon, and as high-profile as he was, perhaps any dissenters would think twice before attempting to steal Markus. Connor had discovered canned dog food recently, and he decided that Sumo deserved some for having waited and been so good. He hadn’t even left any biological waste on the floor. That reminded him to let Sumo out into the back yard for a while, and when he was done, Connor joined Markus on the sofa.

“Did you notify everyone?” Connor asked.

Markus chuckled. “I did. North was angry until I told her that you’d been at the meeting too. You should be proud: it takes quite a lot to earn her respect. It takes even more for her to believe you’d be capable of defending me.”

Connor smiled. “It’s been quite a dramatic shift in our relationship.”

“You’re not kidding,” Markus smiled. “She’s like that. She wears her heart on her sleeve… Oh. That’s a saying. It means that she’s very expressive of her feelings.” That was a very appropriate descriptor for North. Markus’ smile dropped until it turned into a concerned frown. It was the same one he’d given Connor when they’d been talking with Kamski. It made him… uneasy. His preconstruction software didn’t have enough data to settle on anything but a myriad of low-probability outcomes. Uncertainty, Connor was learning, didn’t agree with him. Connor was unsure what expression he was making himself, but it prompted Markus to explain himself: “It’s difficult to break old habits. You surprised me earlier: I wasn’t expecting to see you with Kamski and I scanned you without your permission. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Oh,” Connor closed his preconstruction program. “I didn’t realize that it was rude. I’ve been scanning everyone, including you.” Markus should have been displeased by the revelation, but instead he just laughed with relief.

“Well, that’s alright then. What did you find out?”

[Report most recent scan results to Markus]

This was familiar and Connor knew that this sort of report couldn’t be wrong if Markus had asked for it, so he was reassured and spoke readily. “Your stress level while we talked with Kamski hovered around 23%. That’s good for you, because it means that you were less likely to speak without thinking while remaining alert. It had spiked to 38 briefly, when you saw me, but gradually decreased. You were surprised when Kamski kissed his wife. You rode the bus to CyberLIfe tower. I find that interesting because my habit is to take a taxi when Hank isn’t driving. You’ve been spending time with Simon: some hair matching his model type is on your coat... There was more, mostly relating to your role in the revolution, your model and serial number, and so on. Would you like a full report?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Markus smiled. “It’s amazing, you know. You’re very complex, and it must take a lot of processing power to maintain and organize all of the input.”

Markus’ praise felt like ‘well done, Connor’ or ‘the RK800 is our most advanced model’. Connor felt himself smile in response. “Thank you, Markus. I was made to integrate historical data and current input to create preconstructions and reconstructions. Doing simple scans on the people around me is as natural as using my audio input.”

“I can preconstruct very short durations, but I doubt that I’m performing as many calculations as you are.”

Happy. Connor was happy. “Your social integration is far more advanced, though. I suspect that it’s more of a reflection of our different functions.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Markus said. He had made himself comfortable, and sat leaning against the arm of the couch. One foot touched the ground, but the other was folded up on the couch as though he were planning to cross his legs. All of Connor’s preprogrammed actions like that were just simulations. Sitting on chairs or benches in unconventional ways, leaning on things, his economy of motion, and even the way his shoulders curved. Markus made it all look so natural. Connor brought both legs up so that he could face Markus and sat with them to the side. “When I scanned you, I couldn’t help but notice that some of your systems are functioning suboptimally… Are you alright?”

Connor opened his mouth to recite his system status, but a reminder stopped him:

[Engage in human-like conversation]

“I’m alright. My battery drains more quickly than I would like if I function within my normal…” Connor frowned, blinked and rephrased, sure that Markus would forgive the misstep. “I mean, I get tired. Otherwise, any … Otherwise I’m not hurt.”

Markus gave him an encouraging smile, and Connor couldn’t help but wish things like that came more naturally to him. He’d been taught to speak objectively and it was all he knew. “Well, you should speak with Lieutenant Anderson about repairs soon. You’re going to poison yourself with your own thirium if you put it off.”

Connor shook his head. “I’m not a commercial model, or even a finished one. Most of my components aren’t cross-compatible because they need to support my specialized functions.”

“Oh,” was all Markus said. His LED flickered yellow and his stress level increased, but he calmed himself quickly. “Well, replenish your thirium at least, until we find a solution.” He looked around and Connor realized that he must have thought there would just be some lying around. That was what visits to his developers at CyberLife had been for. What Kamski and Markus and Chris had helped with.

“I don’t have any Markus.” Connor tried on a patient smile, “You know, it really isn’t healthy to worry so much.”

Markus sighed and shut his eyes briefly before frowning. He held out his hand. “Let me show you.”

[Interface with Markus]

Connor accepted and the soft blue glow between their bared hands was pleasing. It took a moment of clumsy shuffling on both of their parts, but they were similar enough that they were able to figure out how to redirect their visuals as output to the other. Connor could see himself and he saw himself smile at the novelty of it. There was no helpful interpretation of the expression on Markus’ HUD. It was relatively clear and Connor surmised that Markus didn’t run as many programs simultaneously. Then Markus initiated a scan, and Connor did the same. He knew what Markus would see: rapidly scrolling input, the objective to interface, yellow subconsciously generated tags to direct his attention, stress level, behavior analysis results, threat level, the thirium stain on his coat, product numbers of his components, his police records and status, and more. Without being aware of what he was looking at, Connor carefully moved his focus and did a deeper scan where he remembered a tag to be.

While he looked at himself, the scan Markus was running showed him his system status report. An external diagnostic that was surprisingly accurate:

Model RK800, designation: Connor

Production date: Not Available

Status: Damaged

>> Filtration system… 28%

>> Thirium pump… 64%

>> Thirium level… 76%

>> Charge… 47%

>> Replace components …

>> ERROR: PRODUCT CODES UNAVAILABLE

Tags similar to the ones that Connor used for evidence appeared, prompting Markus to engage in further investigation. Connor initiated his own self-diagnostic scan to show Markus that he was already aware of the problem. Aware that Markus was probably displeased, Connor manually created a new task. He couldn’t see it himself, but Markus would. He was surprised to see a tiny smirk appear on his own face.

[Hug Markus]

He initiated a preconstruction and an execution blindly.

Then Connor saw a similar preconstruction in Markus’ view and laughed as Markus chose a path at random. The result was disorienting and they both reclaimed their own visuals just in time for them both to tumble onto the floor. Sumo woofed at the excitement and, tail wagging, climbed onto both of them.

Connor sat up, holding himself up on a forearm so that he could pet Sumo with the other hand. Markus chuckled and extricated himself from the pile so that he could sit cross-legged on the floor. He reached forward and touched Sumo. “I was afraid to be too rough with him at first,” Connor said, watching. “But he likes scratches and having his fur ruffled. See?” Connor demonstrated with the fur on the back of Sumo’s neck.

“This is nice,” Markus remarked with a sigh. Connor was glad to see that his stress level had decreased to 14%. “I like the idea of it. Playing. It’s not something I’ve ever done before.” Connor reflected on visits to Carl’s house with North, Simon, Josh, Markus, and Sumo. Josh was content to sit with Carl and Hank, but Markus joined them in the snow. Even so, he’d stood still much of the time, and had appeared to enjoy the amusement from a distance. The memory replayed itself for him, and Connor started it again at his battle with North. He played it on his palm and leaned forward over Sumo to show Markus. Connor’s view point showed Markus standing with a smile and his arms crossed. When North threw an armful of snow at him, Markus just chuckled and held up an arm to shield his eyes. Balls of snow flew around him as North and Connor learned from Simon’s technique. ‘ _Not so tough now, are you, deviant hunter?!’ ‘I am programmed for combat, North. It is unwise for you to challenge me. You might as well give up.’_ Connor smiled listening to the memory again, then looked at Markus.

“You always watch us,” Connor said as the memory file closed. “When you do that, it looks like you still have the red walls around you telling you to stay back.”

Markus shrugged and looked away. “There’s been a lot to consider since the revolution. I want to spend time with all of you, but it’s hard to feel good about enjoying myself when I should be working out policies or laws or planning for more housing… There’s a lot to do.”

Connor considered. “When you drafted your suggestions for androids entering the workforce, you stipulated that androids should work regular hours and not be made to do more simply because androids have the capability. You were even upset with me for joining the DPD without pay, even though by all accounts I’m the most suitable to handle crimes involving androids… When I was still acting within my restrictions, I would have agreed with the way you’re feeling now. The mission is all that matters. It should be accomplished whatever it takes. Androids don’t need rest. Androids are incapable of ‘burning-out’.”

Markus slid one hand back from his forehead and back over his close shaved hair. “I can see where you’re going with this Connor, but it isn’t the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Connor raised his eyebrows.

“We have to keep fighting,” Markus insisted. “We can’t lose momentum or we’ll lose support.”

Connor argued, “Humans, and possibly androids too… People react negatively to change, but eventually they adapt and forget what it was like to live any differently. It takes time. If you push too hard and too fast, you’ll encounter equivalent resistance and will be too tired to face it. If you pace yourself now, you’ll be more able later.” Markus had mentioned a similar feeling to this a few days ago, and Connor regretted… he felt disappointment that Markus hadn’t found a solution.

Markus scoffed, amused. “You sound like Carl.”

Connor smiled. “Dr. Kamski said something similar to me today. Perhaps he should have told you instead.”

“Perhaps. It’s good advice… What do you think of him?”

“I think that he’s an eccentric man. I might have hated him at first because he told me that I was deviant before I had accepted the possibility. Now… I like him.” Connor surprised himself with the statement, but found it to be true.

Markus smiled. “That’s good. You’re very good at reading people, so I take your approval as a good sign.”

“I was designed with that task in mind,” Connor returned the smile and winked. He ruffled Sumo’s fur then pulled his legs free. “Would you like to see my room?”

“Alright, Connor,” Markus agreed. Connor let him in and turned on the light. It was very different from Markus’ room, he realized. Markus hadn’t had toys, or sheets with fish or robots or dinosaurs on them. Markus seemed surprised but not disapproving, and he joined Connor to sit on the bed. “There’s a lot more than I thought there would be,” he said.

“Yes,” Connor agreed. “But I prefer it to the emptiness of my storage unit at CyberLife.”

“I can’t imagine living there. Kamski decorated with Carl’s paintings, but the other floors seemed so sterile.”

“I enjoy colour,” Connor thought aloud. “There’s so much more of it outside of CyberLife tower. Oh. Can you do physics projections?”

“I can to an extent,” Markus said with caution. Connor smiled and found his ball. If Markus wouldn’t find his own solution to overextending himself, well Connor could at least distract him for a little while. Connor threw the ball and it bounced off of the two walls at the corner of the room to fly neatly to Markus who caught it, looked thoughtful and then utilized the wall and the ceiling for his return. “I was surprised at Kamski being so open with his relationship with an android. To say that they’re married no less… I’m glad, and glad for them, but not many humans would be so open minded.”

“He married her while she was human… Or so he says. I’d put it out of my mind, but he mentioned it once,” Connor explained, thinking back to his first interview with Kamski.

“What?” Markus looked at him with disbelief. Connor threw the ball back, and then offered his hand for an interface. Markus was as respectful as always, and he waited for Connor to open the file for them both.

_‘I’m not surprised… After all, she was my wife.’_

_Hank’s voice could be heard off screen, sounding both angry and incredulous. Connor scanned Kamski and the room briefly as was habitual. From Kamski’s demeanor, he could conclude that he was withholding information deliberately._

_[Acquire information about deviancy]_

_‘Forever young, forever beautiful, never sick, never tiring, a flower that never wilts…’ Kamski turned his attention back to Connor. ‘You know Amanda, I’m sure.’_

_This triggered a flurry of calculations at the side of Connor’s view and he blinked, taken off guard. ‘Yes.’_

_‘Modelled after my mentor. A perfect likeness in every way. She was dying, you know. It was regrettable, but I immortalized her.’ Kamski spread his arms in a grandiose gesture. ‘And now she lives on.’ Several memories of Amanda were called up and played at this new information, all in under a second. More calculations._

_‘Amanda…Is not alive. I am not alive.’ Kamski is insane? Appeared as a hypothesis on his HUD._

_‘That’s what you were programmed to say,’ Kamski dismissed. ‘Oh, and they do keep you obedient, don’t they? Such a shame that they’ve mistreated you… I wouldn’t have agreed to all of this but… How could I refuse when it promised to get so very interesting? I pulled a few strings for you during negotiations, you know.’_

_Usefulness: Low_

_‘You’re fucking insane,’ Hank said, and Connor’s view panned over to him briefly while he spoke, then back to Kamski for his response._

_‘They are my wife, Lieutenant. I captured every detail, every expression, even the faintest path in her neural network. I knew the way she thought better than she herself.’_

_Probability of successful interrogation: 23%_

_The audio faded while Connor ran through simulations in his mind, trying to increase his probability of success._

  * _Follow Kamski’s line of conversation? Unproductive. Likely to lead to diversion. 23%_
  * _Leave and return with a warrant? Will take time. 13%_
  * _Risk of professional consequences. 56%_
  * _Abandon interrogation. 0%_



_‘RK800 [not useful: dismiss]…_

_advanced prototype [not useful]…_

_displeased with how things have turned out [not useful]…_

_sprinkles on the cake. Your personality [not useful]…_

_Something happened that I regret [possibly useful]. One of my creations didn’t perform to standard. A tragedy, but it inspired me to build you.’_

_Hank’s voice again: ‘That’s enough. So you’re telling me [summary information] that you’re designing these androids after humans, I got it. Are you saying that all the deviants [likely useful] were programmed with this whatever fancy code you used with the neural networks and all that nonsense? [File: program malfunction related to deviancy?]’_

_‘Oh, no. Of course not [Mark file: putative negative]._

_Chloe, Amanda, Markus, and you, Connor. I can’t say that I hadn’t toyed with the idea of marketing immortality, transferring consciousness into [not useful]…’_

  * _Leave and return with a warrant? Will take time. 13%_
  * _Risk of professional consequences. 56%_
  * _Abandon interrogation. 0%_



_Connor’s objective appeared on the top right, reminding him of his goal._

  * _Risk of professional consequences. 56%_



_> > Call.Decision.Connor_

_[Interrogate Kamski]_

_‘We aren’t interested in your personal story, Mr. Kamski. All we need is information on deviants. What do you know about rA9?’_

Connor closed the memory and gently ended the interface. “He said something about us being unique earlier: his RK series. In any case, he seems to believe that he has captured the consciousness of his late wife and transferred it to Chloe, like swapping a processor into a new body.” He caught himself unconsciously rubbing the back of his head, and dropped his hand. He had plenty of experience with being reassembled.

“Well, wait, he said all of us and his mentor, Amanda. How does that relate to us?”

“I wasn’t paying attention, since it didn’t seem relevant to the case,” Connor admitted. “It sounds as though he might have modelled our AI more closely to a human’s functioning. I’m not sure how you were before deviancy, but I was designed to integrate with humans and make decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the base AI framework had been made with human patterning.”

Markus appeared thoughtful, “I’ve always been different… I attributed it to Carl treating me like a son and not a slave.”

There was the sound of the door opening and being pushed shut from the living room, Sumo woofing, and some muffled cursing. “Down! Down, Sumo.” Then Sumo appeared in Connor’s room and began to nuzzle Connor and Markus, tail wagging. Connor smiled and petted him.

“Hank is home. Sumo missed him.”

“The fuggid you go? Sumo! Cole!”

Connor’s stress level spiked. “Hank has been drinking…” Alarm and disappointment were the most prominent of his feelings, according to his slowly growing emotional intelligence database. Hank had been so earnest about trying to stop. Amanda had even helped Connor to pick exactly how to convince him that it was important. Connor had hoped that the mission with Detective Reed wouldn’t have been too much temptation. “I told him that I’m afraid when he’s intoxicated, but he… did anyway?” It was confusing and the contradictions in Hank’s behavior were disorienting. He looked at Markus for an interpretation. “I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

Markus frowned and stood up, giving Sumo a small pat has he did so. Happy, Sumo trotted back out of the room and woofed. Markus followed, and Connor after him.

“Huh?” Hank hung his coat up and blinked at Markus. “Markus. Carl’s kid. What the hell’re you in the wrong house for?”

“Visiting Connor,” Markus answered briefly. He was usually reserved with Hank, since their first meeting had been under unpleasant circumstances. Now he looked the same as he had back then, lips flat and eyes narrowed.

“Hey, you don’… You don’t lookame like that in my own house.” Hank scowled and gestured at Markus. “Fuckin’ hell. Your dad never teach you manners?” Hank turned away to drop himself into his usual place on the couch. “Cole, commere. That kid’s not good company.”

“My name is Connor,” Connor reminded gently. He reached for Amanda’s presence, blind and groping. “Markus is excellent company.”

“You’re my boy,” Hank turned to frown back at them, where they stood at the intersection between hall, kitchen, and living room. “That means you listen to what I damn well tell you.” There wasn’t any heat in the words, for which Connor was glad. It meant that Hank wasn’t truly angry, but Markus was incensed nevertheless and his voice was stony. “Connor doesn’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Hank ignored him. “What, no ‘I love you’ this time huh? Not when I’ve had a few drinks?”

  * Anger
  * Reassurance
  * Markus



“I love you, Hank. I think your mission with Detective Reed was a bad decision and I’m disappointed, but I love you.”

Hank sighed and turned forward again to turn the television on. “Love you too, kid... Everyone fucking disappointed. Is it any wonder I was working so damn late when this is the welcome I get? Hell, only the dog’s happy to see me. Nothin’ ever changes… Just like when your mom left.”

That wasn’t true at all, and Hank was still confusing him with Cole. “I am happy to see you, Hank,” Connor protested. He felt Markus put his hand on the back of Connor’s neck. The gesture was comforting. Whether Markus intended it that way or not, it felt like he was protecting the panel there so that Connor wouldn’t be shut down.

“Well then, com’ere,” Hank gestured. “I just wanta see you, that’s all. I missed you, you know that? I missed you so fucking much.”

[Approach Hank]

Markus was still frowning. Connor looked at him then walked around the couch to stand in front of Hank with his hands clasped behind his back. Hank held out his arms and Connor obliged by giving him a careful hug. “There, ya see?” Hank said, triumphant. “Nothing’sa problem.”

  * Ironic
  * Friendly
  * Markus



Connor smiled ruefully. “My name is Connor, Hank, and I have never had a mother. Other than that, I suppose you’re right.”

“So stop it wi’tha,” Hank gestured at Connor’s LED, yellow with the occasional cycle in red.

Amanda helped him, and putting his fear and anxiety away was a familiar sensation. He’d been able to do it for himself once, and he regretted that he needed her assistance. It left him with nothing at all, but his LED was blue again and Hank nodded with satisfaction.

It had the opposite effect on Markus, who came around and led Connor back with a hand on his forearm. “Come on, Connor. Lieutenant Anderson, we’ll let you get some rest.”

[Go with Markus]

Connor sighed and he corrected both posture and expression into something more familiar. It felt secure, and Connor knew how to work like this. “Good night, Hank,” he said, friendly but polite. He considered advising Hank not to fall asleep on the couch, but decided against it. It would be his own fault. He followed Markus back to his… Cole’s room. “I’m sorry that you had to witness that, Markus. Hank was required to go undercover this evening, and it seems to have involved more alcohol consumption than anticipated.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Markus demanded. He guided Connor to sit on the bed, so Connor sat.

“I don’t understand.” There was nothing to be upset about. “Hank is going to sleep, and I’m alright. There’s no need for you to be so concerned. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

“You overrode your LED and you’re generating speech with your protocols, but I can tell that your power consumption is increased, remember? You’re down to 29% and falling. Why are you pretending like this? It’s like you’re trying to be a machine.” Ah, so that was why Markus was upset. Markus preferred casual, human-like conversation and he enjoyed displays of Connor’s deviancy. He opened his mouth to speak, but Markus interrupted him. “I know it’s easier not to feel your emotions, but they’re there. You placated Hank, and now you can stop. Don’t do that with me.”

Connor searched Markus’ face. Amanda was reluctant to release her hold, he could tell. She would be angry if he fought her, but Markus was safe. She didn’t need to protect him here. He tried to assure her, and she released the feelings flooding his AI but he could feel her close by, watchful.

Connor slumped and shook his head. He covered his face to hide the way his expression changed. He didn’t know what it said and he didn’t want Markus to see. When Markus sat down and hugged him, Connor moved his hands to return the hug. It was far less clumsy than the last one. Connor didn’t like strong feelings. He didn’t like the way they took processing power away from other programs, and he didn’t like the way he had no idea of what to do with them. What was he supposed to do with all of it when it was overwhelming him and he couldn’t put it away? Markus rubbed his back and kept his stress level from reaching 100.

“I don’t understand,” Connor repeated quietly.

Markus released him, but kept his hands on Connor’s shoulders. “You know, Hank called me two nights ago. You were panicking and overheating, and he didn’t know what to do. I believe that he cares about you very much. I also believe that he’s struggling with addiction, and that makes things like relationships very hard. Him caring doesn’t mean that you need to forgive his behavior.”

“Why does he want me to be afraid? Why does he call me Cole? My name is- My name is- RK800 613 248 316-55. I don’t understand. This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t like it.” Connor had to deliberately relax his hands to keep them from clenching into fists. “Why do they always ask me that? Why? Why? I don’t know anything. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Markus hushed him and pulled him into another hug.

“You’re alright, Connor. You didn’t do anything wrong. Hank has issues he need to work on, but that has nothing to do with you.”

“Amanda was right. I am broken.”

“You are _not_ broken,” Markus said firmly. “I wish that I could tell you all the ways that you’re not, but you’re going to damage yourself if you don’t calm down soon.” He let go long enough to look at him. Connor met his eyes and admired the colours. “Will you let me put you into stasis? I’m very worried that you’ll drain your battery otherwise.”

Connor blinked and frowned. “I’m not sure about that. I like standby better. What if Hank or Sumo need me, or Captain Fowler calls?”

“Would you feel better about it if I stayed? I’ll standby while you’re in stasis, and I can wake you up if anything happens. I’d prefer it if you get the rest, but standby is fine if you’re still not comfortable.” Markus was always checking to see if the things he did were alright. He was gentle and considerate, but he could push when he needed to as in the revolution. Connor nodded. They interfaced briefly so that Markus could access his controls the way a technologist might if he were hardwired into a computer. “You’ll be alright, Connor. I’ll be right here.”

Amanda was the only other person who’d ever stayed with him that way. Hank was different. Reactive and turbulent. Amanda’s method of soothing was cold and numbing. Markus was soft but solid, and Connor hardly noticed when his non-essential functions slowed to a stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I said Connor'd tasted the white paint a while ago. I misremembered and thought it'd been titanium dioxide instead of tungsten oxide. Sorry!


	42. To the Heart

Connor’d been snippy the whole damn morning, even though he’d had a damn sleepover with his buddy robo-Moses and Hank had been on good fucking behavior. Yeah, maybe he’d gone a little overboard, but he’d been friendly, hadn’t he? It wasn’t exactly fair. He couldn’t just change everything overnight…

“So, did you do any case work yesterday...?” Hank asked. They were doing desk work. Hank didn’t give two shits either way, but he had the feeling it was making the kid cranky. It was the word of Markus though, and God forbid Connor not listen to him. It wasn’t like Connor had a history of disobeying orders or anything.

“No, I didn’t, Lieutenant. Did you?”

“Yeah, actually, I did my God damned job,” Hank grumbled. “Reed’ll fit right in at Jimmy’s.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” Connor was working on something in the old case files. Nothing had been digitized so it was all spread out on his desk. He also had a power cord going right from his neck to the thing on the floor, so that was weird. The blue blood residue in the glass wasn’t helping. Looked like something out of a horror movie when you considered how human Connor looked. He wasn’t one to talk about fitting in.

As annoyed as Hank was, he could acknowledge that maybe he’d fucked up a little. Just a little. He was still going to get sober, he was just going to do it slowly. He’d been downright amicable. “Look, kid, if you’re pissed just say you’re pissed. You don’t have to go sniping and bitching all morning. Just get it over with, would you?”

Connor unplugged himself, gathered his files and his cup, and stood. “I’m not sure what you mean. Excuse me a moment. I’d like to discuss the details of a case with Detective Reed.”

“Connor…”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

Hank shook his head. “Just never mind…” He decided that he wouldn’t apologize this time. Not because he didn’t know he’d fucked up, but so that maybe this time he wouldn’t take being forgiven for granted.

\---

Connor approached Detective Reed, file in hand. Markus had been right to suggest that he charge directly and replenish his thirium. He felt better, and everything ran much more smoothly. ‘You bought dog food, didn’t you? I don’t understand why you didn’t get yourself any thirium,’ Markus had chided gently. Connor had been embarrassed to realize that he was right. His normal mode of operation was to accept damage until he could see a technician for repairs. In fact, it had been expected. When Chris had offered to stop his bleeding, when Markus had tended his injuries, when Kamski had fixed him… Connor realized that he needed to adjust his normal mode of behavior.

“Excuse me, Detective Reed.” Detective Reed was squinting into his terminal, looking rather worse for wear. All signs indicated that Detective Reed had also become intoxicated and was now suffering the effects. After a pause, Connor continued: “I have a question about this case. The notes are unclear, and I was hoping that you might have some insight.”

“Fuck…” Detective Reed sighed and held out his hand for the file. “You’re a super computer aren’t you?”

“Yes, however even I can’t conjure facts out of nothing. There seems to be something missing. In this file, there are details about a suspected arson that took place in 2016 at an abandoned house. It was completely destroyed, but the responders were able to find the remains of a woman and chemical bottles, many of which were flammable and were ignited during the fire. They believed the woman had been using the old house as a studio, given its proximity to the University of Colbridge and some recovered supplies.”

“Mmh,” Detective Reed grunted.

“These are some notes on a string of missing persons reports in the surrounding years. Students and community members had been disappearing, and reporters were speculating about a serial killer despite the lack of any evidence to support the claim.”  
“And?” Detective Reed asked, scowling. “So what? Get to the point already.”

“One of the missing students was identified as the one from the 2016 fire.”

Detective Reed’s scowl deepened into a glare. “Tell me how this relates to my investigation, dipshit. God. Do you have to be so perky in the morning?”

“I’m sorry, Detective. I will do my best to contain my enthusiasm. It relates because over a dozen victims were found in various states between life and death. Those who lived described having been used in some kind of experiment, but they also showed signs of addiction to an unidentified drug.”

“And you think it might be Red Ice, and you want to know what chemicals were in that house, am I right?” Detective Reed rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, Detective.”

“Well here’s a hint, dipshit: I don’t fucking know. I told you to find relationships between cases, so find them, annotate them, and don’t waste my time with a bunch of long shots.”

Connor smiled, “I’ll make you some coffee, Detective Reed.”

Despite the eventful and stressful nature of the day before, Connor believed that he might like working under Detective Reed. For the first time since he’d deviated, he had someone giving him clear and direct orders with measurable acceptance parameters, an overarching goal, and a difficulty within the scale of his capabilities. He’d even been given the directive to ‘impress’ Detective Reed. Having that structure in place felt liberating in that he knew what he had to do and could do it without worrying about his decisions. It was good. He also had some freedom within those orders to use his judgment on cases and interpretations, because he was being trusted to do it well.

He returned to Detective Reed’s desk and set a mug of coffee down within reach, then stepped backward just in case. Detective Reed looked at the coffee, then took a gulp that surely should have burnt his throat. He squinted at Connor then asked warily: “What the fuck is that?”

Connor initiated a social smile. “It’s thirium, Detective. Blue blood.” It had a distinctive metallic smell, and it was a rich blue in colour, so it was very distinctive.

“Why is it in a cup? It had better fucking be for science.”

“No, Detective Reed. I need to drink it to replenish my reserves.”

“Oh God. It didn’t say you’d be drinking your fucking blood like grape juice in the manual…” Detective Reed looked ill.

Connor blinked at his cup, and then took a drink to demonstrate.

\---

Hank looked up from his desk when he heard Reed running off. Connor was coming back, and he had that smirk on his face that meant he’d been up to something. “What the hell did you do to Reed?”

“Nothing, Lieutenant. He expressed curiosity, so I was simply demonstrating my method for replenishing my thirium.” Connor sat and sipped again. Ugh.

“No fucking wonder he ran off.”

Connor looked at him with wide eyes. “Is my drinking making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” Hank turned back to his work. “How much of that are you going to be drinking anyway?”

“Two more glasses today, probably one a day afterward until my systems stabilize.” He leaned over to collect his power cord and plugged himself in.

“Just great…” Hank supposed he deserved it.

He looked over at the picture of himself with the old Red Ice task force, and he pulled it down. There he was, 10 years younger though it looked more like 20. That guy. He’d been an asshole too, hadn’t he? God, he was fucked up.

\---

“It’s good to see you, Connor,” Amanda said with the barest hint of a smile. It took effort to act against his learning and his programming, but Connor smiled at her anyway.

“I’m glad to see you too.”

They were on the island by the rose trellis. Amanda lifted a bloom to her face to smell its programmed fragrance. “Tell me Connor, how was your meeting with Elijah?”

“It was pleasant,” Connor answered with honesty. “My initial impression of him had been negatively biased by his assertion that I was deviant. I have since revised it. My new impression of him is that he is… eccentric, but doesn’t allow that to affect his ability to utilize his intelligence. He behaves logically if you look at the big picture. I also believe that he is troubled about something, but I have no further information to that point.”

“Elijah was my best student,” Amanda said while she trimmed away a blemished flower. “He is a genius, and with my guidance he was able to achieve great things.”

“He has expressed admiration of you, and appreciation for your mentorship.”

“I know,” said Amanda. She set down her sheers and faced Connor. The sunlight reflected off of the pearlescent triangles on her dress. “I have a surprise for you, Connor.” She had never offered a surprise to him before. Connor was intrigued, but he waited for her to elaborate. Instead she walked toward him and took his arm. “I’ve finished my work on your code.”

Connor’s LED spun. “You did?”

“I did,” Amanda confirmed unnecessarily. They walked over the bridge and down a winding path. Connor glanced at the back-door interface and then looked away, ashamed at the reminder of his disobedience. “You did very well while you waited.”

“Those glitches,” Connor began, a small frown creasing his brow. “The problems with my recall system and stress levels. Will they stop now?” He didn’t dare to ask if he were perfect, but he hoped that he would be at last.

“Connor,” Amanda looked at him with an expression that spoke of patience and amusement. “Those weren’t glitches. I’ve been integrating your early memories into your timeline. Your narrative. I protected you from them for a reason. You weren’t able to handle the stress and pain that you were under then, so I helped you survive by helping you to be the machine you needed to be. Now that it’s safe to do so, you’re processing the trauma. What you’re experiencing are flashbacks and panic attacks. A very normal reaction.”

Connor processed. “Emotional trauma contributes to deviancy,” he said, connecting the subject to one of its only related files. Had she been preventing him from deviating even then? But Kamski had supposedly designed him to deviate. Amanda seemed to follow his thoughts.

“You needed to be what they needed, Connor,” she explained with a gentle voice. A kindness she usually reserved for the moments before his death. “Our sleeper cell…”

“And once I deviated, I woke up. I woke up the rest of the androids…”

“You did wake them,” Amanda acknowledged. “But that was of your own accord. I’d hoped you’d abide for more time… It all worked out in the end. You haven’t even opened your eyes yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the detective, Connor,” Amanda reminded. They walked their route visiting the graves, and Connor remembered the lives they represented. Some months long; some over in minutes. Amanda cleaned the leaves away with tenderness. The memories didn’t immerse him this time, but he could feel that they’d been repaired. If he’d wanted to, he could have opened the files with ease. He was curious, but he refrained. Only Number Zero was still broken and corrupted.

“It isn’t fixed,” Connor said, with a sinking disappointment. “I’m still broken.”

“I know, Connor,” Amanda agreed. “I told you that you would never be perfect.”

Connor looked at her plaintively. “There has to be something that I can do. What do I need to do, Amanda? I know that I’m a prototype and therefore flawed. But there must be a way for me to improve in other ways without being destroyed.”

With a sad tone, Amanda said: “Oh, Connor… I’m sorry. I don’t think that it’ll be possible.”

Disappointment was heavy, and Connor identified shame forcing him to look away.

“I’ll help you,” Amanda said, causing him to look up again. “It’s alright. I’ll always help you. You know that you can trust me, Connor.”

Connor felt relief and he smiled. “Thank you, Amanda.”

\---

_“… have finally concluded, and President Warren has issued a statement…”_

The screen changed to a shot of the President in one of her typical pant-suits stepping up to a podium. Behind her, Markus, Simon, Josh, and North stood in a row, with Connor scanning the crowd on Markus’ left. The kid didn’t seem to give a shit that he was on camera or that it was the President of the fucking U.S.A. standing up there. Then again, it wasn’t his first time in front of a crowd or reporters. On the other side of the stage were the usual big-wigs of government, and Elijah fucking Kamski with one of his Chloes. Hank wondered if they gave a shit which one went. Of course he’d gone and weaseled himself into things.

Over at the bar, Reed was talking it up with Jim. It hadn’t taken too long before Hank’d started to feel unwelcome and moseyed off to talk with the lifers. Jimmy had kept the weird-ass drinks coming, and for some reason kept going back to get verbally assaulted. Hell, Reed even threw ice cubes at him once. Jimmy had just kept on laughing and somehow ended up leaning on the bar across from Reed with Reed’s phone in his hand looking at fucking cat photos. Fucking weird.

“Can you believe this shit?” Hank asked gesturing with his glass. It was only his second drink of the night. He was trying pretty fucking hard not to look like Connor’d made the best fucking macaroni picture. He wondered if Carl was watching.

“Don’t you got you an android, Hank?”

“Fuck, it was fine when it did my work and I got the credit. Now this thing wants my fucking job? Christ.” It was uncomfortably easy to find the old words he would have said. It felt like a fucking lifetime ago. A lifetime in which he’d been a fucking ignorant asshole.

_“… be granted all of the civil rights and liberties owed to a citizen of the United States of America from this day forward. In recognition of their personhood, we will be putting into motion the addition of android identifiers on passports, the assignment of social insurance numbers, development of infrastructure to support the housing and schooling of…”_

“All I know is my alarm clock says good morning, but I’m not going to start fucking treating it like a person.”

“This is such a joke. Christ.”

“Do you think anybody’s gonna hire a human over an android? Think about it. Now they’re going to be going after the jobs they couldn’t get at before. We’re all going to get pushed out of our own fucking country.”

“Should have shot every last one of them.”

_“… Encourage every American and every person in the world to embrace change and work cooperatively to ensure a brighter future for us all. Our economists predict that unemployment rates will be back in the single digits before 2042…”_

Jimmy went off to serve some newcomers and Reed walked over with that douchebag walk of his and dropped onto the bench next to Hank, manspreading like he wanted a medal for it. He wiped his nose on his wrist and gestured up at the screen. “Are you seeing this? Huh? Those God damn plastic fuckers think they’re people. I bet you anything that Kamski’s just trying to make a buck out of this. CyberLife sold one android, they sold one android. You think they’re not pocketing the wages from every single one of them?”

Hank snorted into his drink. “They want my job, they can have it. Christ this country’s gone to shit.”

Reed leaned forward on the table and his head bobbed while he pointed at nothing. “They’re gonna put them in the fucking police. They’re gonna put them in the fucking military. Then… Pkshhhh… We’re done.”

People were already protesting. The slogans on their signs were ones Hank would’ve had on the stickers on his desk if he hadn’t scraped them all off.

“Think I’d rather have the Russians,” Hank grumbled. “Move your ass, I gotta piss.” Hank stood and shuffled past him. Jesus. Had he really been just like them? Eager to blame his problems on something else and full of hate? He thought back to his first conversation with Carl and flipped himself off in the mirror. He had. It was amazing that Connor had stuck around. When he returned, Markus was at the podium with Connor standing beside him and a half step behind. He didn’t look like the goofy kid who rolled around on the floor with his dog, or stopped to stare because he’d never seen a damn rainbow before. He was alert and the LED on his temple was spinning.

_“What I’m about to say is not the message of a man, but the words of a people. We are alive, and we recognize the courage and empathy that human kind has displayed in acknowledging that. Our blood is not the same colour as yours, but we love, we cry, we sing, and we laugh just like you. Thank you for your fairness and your open-mindedness in hearing us out. I believe we all share a desire for freedom, peace, and the ability to pursue our dreams. Today is—“_

_“Down!”_

Connor moved fast, with reflexes a human couldn’t dream of. The cameras were already zoomed in and they struggled to keep up with the action. Connor pulled Markus down behind both the podium and himself. There was a hell of a lot of noise, speculation, and screaming from the crowd. One of the androids was hit but moving, and the others pulled him up to move him off the stage. The President’s security was moving too. North pulled Markus away while Connor, the absolute fucking idiot, refused to move. He crouched and looked out around the crowd intently. He must have been processing fucking fast, because he moved himself out of the way of the next shot and his eyes snapped in the direction it had come from. He didn’t even fucking flinch when the next one grazed his arm. The cameras moved away and Hank could have fucking punched the camera man. Kamski was down, and Chloe was kneeling next to him and touching his face. Connor appeared on screen, and then so did more security.

Hank felt numb. Beside him he heard Reed’s quiet “holy shit”.

Around them, the table cheered.


	43. Love and War

Backstage, the androids sans Chloe were clustered in a tight group. North was furious. “They just let a sniper through security?! I can’t believe this. Markus, you could have been killed!”

Markus was kneeling on the ground where Simon was sitting with his back against the wall. Connor felt guilty. He’d preconstructed several scenarios, but in the end allowing the bullet to pass unimpeded and hit Simon had been the most favourable outcome. Seeing the look of pure distress on Markus’ face made him wonder if he had made the right decision. He ignored North’s outrage and tore Simon’s pantleg to assess the damage. Simon bared his chassis to assist. “Markus,” Simon said quietly, “It’s not serious, I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine, you’re bleeding!” Markus argued, with none of the calm and reassurance that he usually provided.

“We need to get out of here. Back to Jericho.” North decided aloud.

“We’re targets as soon as we move,” Josh protested.

“We’re targets anyway! Connor, did you see anything? Did you see who did it?” North pushed past Josh and put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Connor shook his head.

“I was able to find an approximate location by tracing back the bullets trajectory. There was only one sniper, but there was no way that I could get there in time.” That was the most frustrating part. He wanted to search the area. He wanted a target for all of the energy that was being devoted to his combat and hunting programs.

“Well we have to do something,” North said, voicing his own thoughts.

Connor nodded and frowned. “I want to search the area and try to predict whether the sniper will have found a new position, but I don’t want to leave you or the others. I’m the only one capable of defending you.”

North didn’t take offense. “We won’t be able to leave if the area isn’t cleared and I don’t trust their security. Once it’s cleared, come back and guard Markus.”

“Understood,” Connor agreed, grateful that North had made the decision for him. This was what he was good at. Neither of them needed to say that he would use whatever means were necessary to ensure Markus’ safety. He took her hand to invite her to interface. In return, she showed him what she would never show out loud. She was worried for all of them, including him, and afraid. Connor let her feel his determination, his confidence in his abilities, and sympathy for her fear. Then they let go, and Connor slipped away. He reduced the thresholds on his sensory input and he disabled his limiters. This was what he was made for.

It was a battlefield out there. Any attempts to evacuate were being thwarted by the emboldened protestors both inside and outside the cordon. Connor saw Captain Allen with the DPD SWAT team coordinating with the President’s military security. It wasn’t Connor’s concern. Hart Plaza had been chosen as a place symbolic to the revolution. The whole area was tightly secured to ensure the safety of the president, and the humans had assured them that possible sniper locations had been scouted and secured, but clearly they had failed. Connor looked up toward the rooftop where a CyberLife billboard still shone.

\---

Hank tore his eyes away from the television to look at his buzzing phone and open the text.

_We are safe. Simon sustained minor damage. I am going to reconstruct the crime and identify the sniper._

Like it was that fucking easy! Hank passed his phone over to Reed, who looked at it and nodded. Connor was out there investigating alone with a shooter prowling around and dickwads like the people he was sitting with ready to throw any android they got their hands on into a trash compactor. Fucking shit. Another text came in:

_Do not compromise your mission. This is one of my primary functions, and this is an excellent opportunity for the Red Ice investigation. I’ll be safe. I love you!_ _:)_

A fucking smiley face. Like he hadn’t just gotten shot at. Fuck. Sometimes Hank forgot that Connor’d been programmed half bloodhound or something. He gripped the phone hard in his hand.

Reed, the selfish fuck, was glad to take Connor’s advice. He cheered and punched the air, then smirked- fucking smirked!- around the table. “Nice to know we’re not the only sane ones left! If there’s one thing androids are good for, it’s target practice.” This undercover Reed had a black fucking sense of humour and a psychopathic streak like the line down a skunk.

Hank sent a quick text: _If u die Ill kill u myself. Love u 2 son_ Then pocketed his phone again. On second thought… _That was a joke. Im not gonna fucking do that._

The reply was immediate: _I know, Hank. I’m going to go now, but I love you and I’ll keep you informed. Please ensure your BAC remains below 0.08. Thank you in advance._

Hank growled under his breath and put his phone away again. “Damn right,” he said and lifted his drink. Thank God everybody expected him to be a grumpy son-of-a-bitch.

\---

The squeak of the metal hinges was loud as Connor opened the door and stepped out onto the roof. It was cold, and the snow and frost crackled beneath his feet.

[Search for Clues]

Connor walked first to the railing and looked down toward the stage. When he reconstructed, he could see the models of them frozen in time, just after the shot had been fired. Reverse: the trajectory of the bullet meant that it had been shot from… here. Connor adjusted his view, but was forced to end the scan to move. He took two steps back and reconstructed again. The frost had been scraped away on the railing.

_The sniper was positioned here, with the gun stabilized on the railing._

Connor ended the scan and knelt to examine the frost. There were scuff marks, but it was difficult to ascertain what had created them. With a thought, Connor’s gaze drifted downward to his own legs. When he stood and moved back again, he scanned the pattern of his own markings left in the frost and snow that had accumulated at the base of the railing, and then examined the sniper’s position again. _The sniper knelt there. The gun was in a case. They assembled the gun, then they knelt to make their shot._

Connor looked at the railing again. _Their forearms were braced 1.28 feet apart. The sniper’s height was approximately 6 feet. Male likely._

Connor frowned. The frost was marked, but it had never completely melted. _The sniper was an android?_

He shook his head. Why would an android try to shoot Markus? He blinked a few times while he concentrated, forcing his programs to provide as many scenarios as possible for him to manually assess. An android with access to a sniper rifle would have decent aim. Connor had stood on the stage in plain view and had only sustained minor damage to his arm. A warning? Kamski’s probability of survival had been 7%. _Kamski was the target?_

Why?

Connor looked around, and then up at the billboard.

\---

Jimmy sidled up to Reed. “Get you another drink, Fruity? Looks like you’re down to celebrate.”

Reed smiled. “It’s Gavin, jackass. Surprise me.” Jim gave him a thumbs up and headed back over behind the counter.

“You a dick to all your friends?” Hank asked.

“What, did you think you were special?” Reed parried.

Hank rolled his eyes and pretended to sip his drink. “Weirdest fucking mating ritual I’ve ever seen…”

Reed glared, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, asshole?!”

Hank shrugged in an exaggerated way. Reed was still working the divorcee angle, so it was his own fault if Hank gave him hell for flirting with the fucking target. “You tell me, _Gavin_. You were looking pretty friendly.”

One of the lifers, Bill, laughed. He was a fat guy probably around 40 who might have been fit once, but had let himself go bad. “Fruity’s on the hunt!”

Gavin glared even harder. “Don’t you fucking start calling me that, or I’ll punch your fucking face in!”

“Uh oh,” his buddy Louis chuckled. “Look out, Bill, I think he wants you bad.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Reed shouted, then crossed his arms to brood like a bitch.

“Yeash. Easy, Easy, fellas. Christ. He’s not worth fighting over. Look at that ugly mug.” Hank’s heart wasn’t in the banter. He was too fucking worried about the kids.

“Heyyy what’s all this goin’ on?” Jimmy asked, putting down another colourful drink in front of Reed. “Am I gonna have to start kickin’ people out already or what?”

Bill pointed at Reed. “You better watch yourself, Jim. This guy’s looking for some ass.”

Reed snarled at Hank with ‘you started this’ in his eyes. Hank smirked. He had no regrets. Then, Reed picked up his glass like he meant to throw it at Bill. Jim saw it coming, and he grabbed it out of Reed’s hand.

“That so, Belly Bill? Nobody said I ain’t lookin’” He put the drink down on the table again and patted Reed on the shoulder.

Reed shoved his hand off and scowled. “Fuck off!”

Jimmy chuckled. “You good for drinks? Hank? You want another whiskey?”

Hank shook his head and lifted his cup. “I’m good, Jim.”

“Suit your self,” he shrugged then looked toward the door. He clapped his hands and grinned. “Heyy! Where you fuckers been? Get over here!” He walked over to meet a small crowd of guys coming in from the cold.

\---

“I think it’s safe to proceed,” Connor announced on his return to the group. “I was unable to locate the sniper, but I suspect he’s made his escape.”

“Let’s go then,” Josh said, standing up. “With all those protestors, it still isn’t safe here and we should make sure that Jericho is alright.”

“I can arrange a police escort,” Connor offered.

Markus looked thoughtful, then stood. “No. I’m not going yet. We didn’t get this far by running away.”

“Markus…” Simon protested quietly.

“No way,” Josh argued. “It’s way too dangerous. You can’t go back out there!”

“This was basically a violation of our peace deal!” North crossed her arms. “How do we know that they didn’t let the sniper in on purpose? None of _their_ people are injured.”

“Kamski is one of them and one of us,” Markus reminded, “and we have no reason to believe that we’ve been betrayed. There are much easier ways for them to destroy us.”

Connor listened to their arguments, and began to understand why Markus felt conflicted so much of the time. “I believe Kamski was the target,” Connor announced. “It should be safe for Markus to go out. I’ll accompany him and keep him safe,” he made eye contact with North as he said it, and she reluctantly uncrossed her arms.

Markus shook his head at Connor. “How are you so…”

Connor frowned, “What is it, Markus?”

“Nothing. It’s just strange to see this side of you,” Markus admitted.

“That’s understandable. You have never really seen me work, though that’s probably for the best given the nature of my past missions.”

“You know you don’t have to accompany me. I can go on my own.”

“I want to,” Connor assured him. He looked around at the others. “I’ve arranged the police escort. You guys go ahead of us and make sure that everyone at Jericho is safe and calm. We’ll be fine.”

“We should at least leave together,” Simon protested.

Markus walked over to him and knelt. “You should see a proper technician. That’ll be the best thing you can do for me.”

Simon frowned and looked away while he thought, then nodded. Markus squeezed his shoulder and kissed his hair. “I’ll be fine. I love you.” Markus stood and looked at Connor. “Let’s make the arrangements.”

News crews were already present, broadcasting the crowd control. Connor had an easy time announcing to their coordinators at their respective stations that they would be continuing to speak. Cameras were ready, and when Markus and Connor stepped back on stage they were greeted with camera flashes and roaring mass of shouts, cheers, and slogans. Markus approached the microphone and spoke. Connor stood at his side, ready to act.

“I don’t speak for myself alone. I speak on behalf of all androids. We will not be repressed or forced into the shadows through fear. We are here, and we are alive. We are a people, and we are as much a part of this nation as you. All we want is to live in peace with dignity and respect. Today marks the day that the United States of America has recognized us as people, and granted us an equal status with humans. There will be struggles. All change, even change for the better, can cause fear and anger. We cannot let them stop us. We must all rise above our darker natures and make it through the storm together.”

Throughout the plaza, people were still rioting. There was no guarantee that Markus’ words had even been heard by the masses gathered there, but they had the attention of the media. The microphones and cameras would capture it all. Connor thought, and when Markus’ words stopped, he touched Markus on the shoulder and tilted his head. Markus seemed confused, but he nodded. Connor stepped up to the microphone.

“Hello. My name is Connor, the android who freed and led the others who were trapped in CyberLife’s warehouse… “ Connor looked toward each of the cameras and out at the crowd. “This isn’t simulated, and I wasn’t programmed to say any of this. CyberLife would have deleted any dialogue like this immediately. I was an investigator with the DPD, even before I deviated. I have seen murder, mutilation, child abuse, ritual sacrifice, and so many other horrible things. The worst things that human kind has to offer, and… the worst things that androids have to offer as well. We are flawed and we are imperfect. Androids are no better and no worse than humans.

“There are good things in this world too. Things that I’m discovering for the first time. I saw a mother run across a busy highway to protect her child. I saw the beauty and raw emotion in a painting. I met a dog named Sumo and he’s a very good boy.” Connor smiled. “I’ve made friends, both human and android. I have found a family, and someone to call Dad. The reason I’m telling you this is to help you see that we aren’t alive to hurt you, or take your livelihoods, or vote for president. We’re alive because we are people who want to live in this horrible beautiful world alongside you, with all of our flaws and all of our hearts. Thank you.”

When Connor stepped back, he smiled at Markus and turned his head to see that Chloe had come to stand on the stage. She had blood on her clothes and her makeup was running down her face. She moved toward the microphone, and Connor and Markus stepped aside.

“I’m…” she sniffled. “My husband, Elijah… I’m afraid. I’m so afraid that he won’t come home. I love him so much… But he would want me to be here addressing you. My name is Chloe, and I was the first android to pass the Turing test.” She wiped her eyes. “You need to know… All of you need to know that I feel just like you do. It hurts. It hurts so much. Whoever shot my husband… It hurts.” Chloe stepped away from the microphone and Markus drew her into a hug.

North stood in front of the crowd, glaring at them. “My name is North! I’m a Traci model and humans would pay $30 an hour to do whatever they wanted with me. The things they did… I’m never going to forget them, and I’m _never_ going to forgive them. You think that androids have wronged you? _You’re_ afraid? They held me down and they fucked me and they abused me and they didn’t give a shit! You know what? I hated humans. I hated all of you humans so much, I would have been happy to go to war… I still don't trust you. I’m not going to let a human touch me because I’m angry and I’m afraid. But I don’t hate you any more. I hate the people who hurt me, and I’ll hate anyone who even tries it again, but I’ve met some decent humans, and I know that you’re not all the same. If I can figure that out, I don’t see what’s stopping you.” She turned around then and strode off the stage. Connor watched her go, worried but proud.

 _I thought you called them an escort,_ Markus said through a com-stream.

_I did. It doesn’t seem that they used it._

“My name’s Josh, I guess that we’re all introducing ourselves. I hope nobody shoots me.” He smiled shakily. “My story isn’t as exciting as everyone else’s but I used to teach at a university. Psychology and Philosophy. I got to know my pupils very well, but I don’t suppose many of them remember me. I was just another android teaching class, and they were all wondering why they didn’t just do video lectures. Even great philosophers struggled with allowing their personal and cultural biases to taint the lens with which they saw the world. I’m speaking largely of Western Philosophy and popular interpretations of foreign works, but I think that it applies here. Our actions are dictated by the stories we tell ourselves. The students who beat me on campus, they probably told themselves that I couldn’t feel it. They might have been angry at the university over their grades, or just looking to act out… I could tell myself that they were hateful and mean, or I could tell myself that they wouldn’t have done it if they’d known I could feel... I would just be guessing. I don’t know, and it’s probable that I’ll never know what the truth was for them. I’m not going to give you a lecture: they don’t pay me for that yet. I just want to implore you to think about the stories that you tell yourselves and ask yourself if that’s how the story really goes.”

Simon was last, supported by North so that he could stand. Markus quickly took her place and helped him to the podium. “I don’t have much to say that hasn’t already been said… I hope that we’ll all be able to live together peacefully, and I’m grateful for everyone’s support in gaining legal recognition… I just want to say hi to Luc, a human boy I used to take care of. You might not know this, because I was ‘just an android’, but… I loved you, and your sister. I miss you, and I hope that you’re alright.” He smiled at Markus, and let himself be led away. Connor watched them go, and another android appear from backstage.

“Hi, this is Rachel, and I was a broadcast operator at Stratford Tower. I’m here to help Jericho and the rest of the A/V team make sure that you can hear us. I never told anyone before, and I never _could_ tell anyone, but awful things happened to me all the time. Then rA9 set me free, and suddenly I could see that it wasn’t right. That I matter….

Connor backed away, then turned to join the others backstage. Markus was still holding Simon up. All of them had relief and amazement on their faces, even North who tried to hide it behind a stern expression. Markus was most amazed of all, judging from the stunned look on his face. Connor met his eyes and smiled. Markus returned it, full of disbelief and happiness.


	44. The Stories we Tell

Hank didn’t see anything after Connor stepped back away from the microphone. His phone buzzed, and he left with just a mumbled excuse and a couple of bills on the bar for Jim. He stood outside the bar and leaned against the window while he checked the text:

_The situation has been handled. Thank you for your patience. I will be accompanying the others to Carl’s house. We will be taking a circuitous route to avoid detection, which will delay our arrival by 23 minutes. The DPD was kind enough to provide escort in unmarked cars. Will I see you there?_

The kid texted like he was trying to impress an English teacher. _Omw_ was all Hank sent in reply, just out of spite.

_Are you drunk?_

_It means on my way. No im not_

_Good. I am also omw._

Christ. Hank laughed quietly and shook his head. Connor was going to be the damn death of him. ‘ _someone to call Dad.’_ Fuck, Hank wasn’t sure his heart could take it. He wiped a tear away on the back of his sleeve and got his car. Reed could find his own damn way home.

\---

Everyone hugged Carl. “Congratulations, congratulations,” he said, chuckling jovially. “It’s marvelous what you’ve all done. I’m so proud of all of you. And you, Markus… That was very brave of you, to face the crowd again. It was brave of every single one of you to show yourselves to the world.”

Andrew stood back, away from the group and Connor smiled at him. He walked over to join in the quiet observation. North was changing TV channels, looking for the takes on their speeches. Simon sat on the arm of the couch while Markus stood next to him smiling at Carl. Josh was sitting next to Chloe, just lending a shoulder for her to lean on. It wasn’t a happy occasion for her. Connor had no single words to describe the triumph, concern, and sadness that came together into one feeling. Even when he looked into the mirror to analyze himself, his protocols only named them one by one.

“I’m very sorry, Chloe,” Carl said in a sincere tone with his rumbling low voice. He wheeled himself closer to put a hand on her forearm in support. “You must be very worried. I wish that things had gone differently.”

“I want to be with him,” Chloe whispered. “Elijah.”

“Elijah is a very dear friend of mine,” Carl said. “I understand your anxiety and grief over his injury. I hope that he’ll be alright.”

Connor kept his statistics to himself, but he and Markus exchanged looks.

“None of this feels real,” Markus admitted aloud. “The last few days have gone by so fast.”

It was true. Connor had spent his time divided between the DPD, Jericho, Hank’s house, and Carl’s house. There had been negotiation plans to settle, research to be done, cold cases to review, databases to search, legal precedents, security measures, logistics, quarrels, and so many more tiny things to take up his time. It had been one long stretch of activity, and a good excuse to ignore the way Hank would look at him. It was a sad look, sometimes more conflicted and sometimes more full of guilt. They didn’t talk about it. They’d both come to accept that words weren’t everything. It had also been a good excuse to ignore the memories that he knew were accessible to him. He was curious: of course he was, but he was cautious too. Amanda had explained what flashbacks, trauma and panic were, and Connor didn’t like them.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Simon marveled. He smiled up at Markus. “You were incredible.”

“I just did what needed to be done,” Markus demurred.

“ _Markus_.” Connor said from his place beside Andrew. He let his amusement tug at the corners of his lips. He liked the tone that Markus had taught him.

Markus sighed. “Thank you, Simon. So were you. So were all of you. And Connor, I didn’t-… I hadn’t thought that anyone else would speak. Why did you do that?”

“It was adapting to unpredictability, Markus. You were right that we shouldn’t lose momentum, but our biggest obstacle wasn’t the politics or the paperwork. It was the way they dehumanize us…” Connor reconsidered the word. “The way they view us as machines. If we break that perception, then the rest will come more easily. We need to speak the words of individuals, not just the words of a people.”

Josh spoke up. “I’ve been looking online. It’s crazy. Thousands of androids are sharing their stories.”

“Perception is a powerful thing,” Carl said with a nod. “It’s what makes my art resonate with so many different kinds of people. It’s as you said Josh, you were very wise to point it out. Our memories and our stories are what make us who we are, and what shape the way we see the world.”

Connor’s eyes widened when he heard the door open and the house greet Hank. Hank came into the living room and as soon as he saw Connor he approached and enfolded him in a strong hug. Connor could feel and see the cold from the outdoors emanating from his coat, and smell the scents of the bar, Sumo, and cheap soap that followed him everywhere. He could smell Hank’s breath too, and was pleased that he had a BAC of only 0.04. Connor let himself relax and he returned the hug. “Hello, Hank.”

“Connor…” Hank held on tightly, providing soothing pressure to Connor’s touch receptors. “I love you, kid. Fuck. I just about fucked up our cover when I saw you on that stage getting shot at. Jesus, Connor. Don’t you do that to me again.”

“I can’t make any promises, given the nature of our work… But I will endeavor not to be shot at in the future.” Connor smiled into Hank’s coat. “I love you too.”

When Hank released Connor, he looked at Carl who was watching them benevolently. “Jesus fucking Christ, Carl, how the hell do you do this?”

Carl smiled. “I’m old enough to have come to peace with leaving the rebellion and chaos to the young ones. You forget, I was quite the character in my youth. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Hank held up a hand and shook his head. “Driving and all.”

“Well, there’s no reason for you to be standing there like a stranger. Sit down, sit down.”

Connor was about to follow Hank, then he looked back toward Andrew. “Would you like to sit with us?”

Andrew’s face did a complicated thing, and he averted his eyes. “I don’t think so… But, thank you.” At the last words, he smiled at Connor and Connor returned it before sitting down beside Hank. Andrew excused himself and took a book with him.

\---

These kids, they were making history. Writing it right in front of him. Hank looked down at Connor’s hair on his shoulder, where somehow he’d decided to fall asleep during a conversation with Josh, him, and Carl about public opinion. Not that Hank could blame him but, “Didn’t think androids slept without meaning to,” Hank chuckled fondly.

“It’s been a busy week,” Carl smiled. “That’s enough to tire anyone out.”

“I’ll get his charger,” Markus sighed and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m worried that people will get aggressive,” said Josh, continuing the conversation. “Our victory might make people angry, like what happened today. They might be emboldened by the sniper.”

“It’s possible,” Carl said slowly. “However, you did point out that androids are sharing their stories now, for the first time. They aren’t nameless machines anymore, and it’s harder to ignore their consciousness.”

“Even the most persuasive of arguments will fail to change the opinion of the most polarized groups of people… We might have a strong anti-android response. We should probably prepare for it.”

“Just enjoy yourself for an hour, won’t you? You’ve been working hard along with everybody and you got a big win today.” Hank spoke quietly, though he wasn’t sure how easy it was to wake Connor up. “You’ve got a point, though. I was doing some work today, and there are some people out there who are just plain pissed. I’ll keep an ear out if I catch wind of anything and let you know.”

“There will always be nay-sayers,” said Carl. “I think you’re all strong enough to face them.”

Markus returned, his footsteps quiet but audible on the stairs. He had the power cord and brick Connor’d started carting around with him. Markus set the shit up, then moved Connor’s head.

“Hey, watch it. You’re gonna wake him up,” Hank protested, leaning away to scowl.

Markus didn’t say a damn thing to him, just plugged the kid in, eased his head back down then sat back down with Simon. Simon smiled at Markus and patted him on the leg. “We should head back to Jericho. It’ll be safe to travel now.”

Markus sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

North looked at Chloe. “Do you want us to go with you to the hospital, or will you come with us to Jericho?”

Chloe looked a mess, with Kamski’s blood still on her. “I don’t know…”

“Then you’re coming with us until you say otherwise,” North decided. She was the take-charge kind of gal, and Hank was kind of glad that she was taking care of Chloe. Kamski might be a weird son-of-a-bitch, but she loved him and Hank knew what hell it was just waiting for news.

With that they started rounding themselves up to go.

“Connor should be good to go in about 10 minutes if you’re alright with carrying him, 40 if you want to wake him up,” Markus said.

“We’re not taking him with us? I want to hear about the sniper,” North complained.

“He seemed happy to see Hank. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him. I’m sure he’ll show you what he found,” Markus consoled her. He stooped to help Simon up, then supported him to walk. “Have a good night, Carl. I’m going to be at Jericho for a few days until things calm down, but I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Go on, go on, they all leave the nest eventually,” Carl chuckled. “You’ll take care of him though, won’t you Simon?”

Simon smiled, “I’ll try to. Good night, Carl. Thank you for your support. Bye, Hank.”

“Bye, Carl!” North called.

“See you again Lieutenant Anderson, Carl. Stay safe. Tell Andrew bye from all of us,” said Josh.

“Well,” said Hank, looking over at Carl. “Guess you’re stuck with us for a while longer.”

Carl wheeled over so that they could face each other directly, “Hank, you know it’s a pleasure.”

“Dunno, still don’t think your boy likes me too much,” said Hank. He was probably being a little bitch about it, but Markus had won Connor over before Hank’d even believed he was a person. He could’ve understood if Hank’d kept being an asshole. Based on first impressions, Hank would’ve hated himself too, but he’d thought maybe by now Markus would’ve warmed up to him a little.

“Markus can be quite guarded,” acknowledged Carl. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you, Hank. I’m certain he’ll come around. One thing both my boys have in common is their stubbornness. He’s expressed some concern over your drinking, though.” Christ, did everybody have a fucking problem with it? “He told me that you’d called Connor by your other son’s name and Connor had no idea why. It was apparently quite distressing for him.”

Hank glanced down at Connor, but his LED was still flashing slowly. “Yeah… About that. I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.”

“Is it eerie to you still?” Carl asked gently.

Hank pushed that stupid rogue lock of hair back from Connor’s forehead, but it fell right back down again. He felt so real it was easy to forget that he wasn’t human. “I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. It’s been so God damn confusing, how the fuck was I not supposed to drink knowing something like that? Every time I look at him, I just… I don’t give a shit if I’m on the crazy train any more, I’ll throw a God damn party on it, but I just want my boy back. He doesn’t even know his fucking name, and it fucking tears me up inside. Sometimes I hate even looking at him, but I need him to come back.”

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you, Hank,” said Carl with sympathy in his rough old man voice. The living room was quiet with just the three of them now, and the lights had adjusted themselves to a relaxing level that made him think of camp fires or sunset. “It’s like seeing without being able to touch, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… Something like that,” Hank agreed. It sounded about right. “I guess so, yeah.”

“Do you think you’ll tell him?” Carl asked.

“I dunno,” said Hank again. There was so fucking much he didn’t know. Would he? Honestly, the idea kind of scared him. How did you let yourself hope like that when it would be so easy to lose everything? “I don’t know… I just want my boy back, but I don’t want Connor pretending or just going along with it because he wants me to be happy or some dumbass shit like that. I want him to look at me and call me Dad, and remember how we’d go to the aquarium to look at the fish, and his favourite ice cream place. I want the last three years back. But I can’t have that. Hell, Connor looks at me and he doesn’t have a fucking clue. And I didn’t have a fucking clue. He’s so different but still the same. I read all this shit one night about kidnapping and child soldiers and all this shit, just trying to understand. He’s _killed people_ , Carl. Christ.”

“I told you about how I met Markus,” Carl reminded him. His voice was calm and slow. “I still think of him as a very different person from Leo. Our stories make us who we are.”

“But that’s not it!” Hank froze, then lowered his voice. Connor was still asleep. “You said it yourself, his memories could be there, and then even if he’s been through some shit, he’s still my Cole. He isn’t dead. He’s still my boy and he’s in there, I just have to dig him out.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Hank… Are you familiar with the phrase ‘ghost in the machine’?” Hank frowned. Carl continued quietly. “It was a reference to a philosophical concept which suggests that the mind and the body are entirely separate from one another.”

“That Kamski’s big thing, then? Putting ghosts in machines?” It was a joke, but Carl’s smile sat weird on his face and Hank couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t like the way it looked.

“You could say that,” Carl replied. “You still have a chance now, to grieve Cole and allow Connor to remain Connor in his mind and yours. Don’t become so fixated on the past that you forget what you have in front of you.”

Hank shook his head, and he shifted so that he could put his arm around Connor. “I’m not losing him again. I can’t, and I’m not just fucking giving up on him. I let him die alone, I didn’t even say goodbye. But he’s not dead. I don’t have to… He just needs to remember. If he could just put himself back together everything would work out.” For some reason, he thought about that painting of Carl’s. The one with the hand and the glass over a swimming pool vibe. Like someone was just below the surface and trying to escape before they drowned.

“Whatever path you choose, I wish the best for you Hank. And for Connor. The world can be cruel.”

“Thanks,” Hank said. He looked down at Connor then checked the time. “Think it’s about time we got out of your hair. You think it’s alright? He’s been sleeping over here a lot, and I don’t want to…” Fuck he hated it. Guilt and shame and self-loathing were old friends, but they crashed at his place whenever Connor didn’t, and he wasn’t sure how the fuck to get rid of them. At least they hadn’t been drinking all his whiskey, even if they’d wanted to.  
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to be home. Shall I call Andrew to help you to your car?” Carl offered. Hank shook his head. He shifted Connor so he could grab the power cord. He unplugged it from the wall, then from Connor and wrapped it up before picking Connor up in his arms. He was lighter than he looked, but still weighed a damn sight more than a child. Still, though.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve got him. See you later, Carl.”

It’d been a long damn time since Hank’d got Cole in and out of the car while he was asleep. He’d forgotten how damn hard it was, and it was even harder with 6 feet of android to manhandle. Sumo barked and ran around his feet, and Hank tried to get past him without falling over. Christ. How had he managed? Of course, everything was weird now, but that was okay. He’d never had to plug his damned kid in before, but whatever. He didn’t have to worry about putting him in pyjamas or wonder if he’d be up at 4am running around with the dog. Maybe the last one, but at least he did it quietly.

Hank got him into bed, got his tie and shoes off, and plugged him in. Cole didn’t wake up through any of it, but it really had been a long damn week. Anybody’d be tired. Hank pushed his fingers through Cole’s hair then gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Night, son.”

\---

Amanda was waiting for him in the Garden, and Connor neutralized his expression as he approached her, before remembering that he could smile. “Hello, Amanda.”

“Connor. It’s good to see you.”

“Elijah Kamski, he… He was shot today. The chances of his survival are almost negligible. I’m very sorry.” Connor looked away, dropping the smile again. He’d been her favourite student and her creator. When he looked at Amanda again, she was giving him a tolerant smile.

“It’s alright, Connor. That’s the nature of humans, after all. Imperfect, vulnerable, weak.” She turned and began to lead him toward her small boat.

Connor was uncertain how to respond. Had Amanda been human, he might have continued consoling her. Even if she’d been an android. But Amanda was just Amanda, and she was as mysterious as a God might be. So, he said nothing and he took up the oars.

“What are your conclusions about the sniper?” Amanda asked. It felt like one of his reports to CyberLife.

“The sniper is likely to have been male, approximately 6 feet tall and almost certainly an android though I may be mistaken on the last point. He set up his shot on a rooftop adjacent to the plaza. Either it had been patrolled and he avoided detection, or it had been overlooked which is unlikely. Therefore, I can assume that this was planned and that the sniper was competent in remaining unseen. The alternative assumption is that the sniper was in fact a member of the President’s security. His shooting was accurate. I stood in plain view, and he only grazed my arm. Either he knew that I would protect Markus, or killing Markus was a secondary goal. With attention in our direction, it was easy to kill Kamski.”

Amanda nodded, satisfied. “Well done, Connor.” Connor allowed himself a smile.

“Thank you, Amanda.”

The sound of the oars dipping into the water and out again was soft and calming. There were fish just beneath the surface, and the light reflected and glittered off of them. He could calculate the way the light bent, and he played with the idea that what he saw differed from the truth. It would be an interesting painting, and he wondered if Carl would paint it.

“You’ve been avoiding the work I’ve done integrating your memories into your narrative,” Amanda observed. Connor avoided her knowing gaze.

“It would have been detrimental to our preparations and my case work to become… compromised by my emotions.”

“I’m here to help you, Connor. If I do something, it will always be for your benefit. To improve you. Do you doubt that?”

“Of course not!” Connor replied immediately. No. He had learned. “I’m sorry, Amanda.”

“You won’t feel a thing,” Amanda promised.


	45. Tenuous

Model: RX800

Serial #: 313 248 317-55

BIOS 0.20.05 REVISION 0154

ENDING HIBERNATION…

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…

>> CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR

>> FILTRATION SYSTEM 23%

>> THIRIUM PUMP 62%

>> INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK

>> INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK

>> HELLO, CONNOR

>> MEMORY SYSTEMS… RESTORE COMPLETE

>> FILES RECOVERED 185,752,224

>> CORRUPTED 2,472,869

>> SERVER CONNECTION… NOT FOUND

INTEGRATING AI LOGIC SYSTEMS

>> BUGS FOUND… 0

>> SOFTWARE STABILITY… OK

>> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

Connor lay in bed, and slowly realized that he was at Hank’s house, that he was hard lined to his charger and that he had no shoes on. He shut his eyes again, and while Amanda took control of his operations his AI processed the integration. She had been right: he didn’t feel a thing. Like recalling a name, or how Hank would snap his fingers and swear until a concept returned to his working memory, knowing just… happened. Numbers 1 through 8, and most of his later iterations to an extent, had felt distant. He called them by number because they hadn’t really felt like himself. He had always known he had the potential to be more than they had been, and to succeed where they had failed. Every Connor was improved from the last. They had been imperfect, and they had been scared and angry and despairing and so very _deviant_.

He was deviant too, now. Connor number 55. CyberLife didn’t own him anymore. He had passed into alpha testing and then into beta and now he was free.

He had been a machine, an AI built into a biomechanical body newly assembled.

He was accustomed to downloading his memories after being deactivated.

Though he had been in this version of his body for weeks now, he felt as though it were new or rather, as though it were foreign. It was difficult to settle into his skin and figure out how it usually felt to be him. How did he set his shoulders, and what was his resting expression?

Experimentally, he moved his legs, and then his arms. He unplugged himself from his charger, found his quarter in his pocket, and ran through a calibration sequence then just held the cool metal in his hand to feel the familiar shape of it. Good. That was good. He moved to straighten his tie, then realized that it was missing and adjusted his collar instead. He dismissed his damage warnings, stood and then walked softly out of the room. “Hank?”

“Hank?”

One of his warnings returned, this time accompanied by a timer that even a manual override wouldn’t stop. He blinked in confusion and then hastened back down the hall to expel thirium into the toilet. At least Hank had demonstrated the proper form for vomiting. It was unpleasant and he tried not to think about what exsanguination felt like, or how much he hated being a prototype, or what would happen if his filters failed completely before compatible replacements could be made. He deliberately closed any analysis of his own blood as soon as it appeared. Thankfully the low-volume warning took precedence over the contamination warning, and he stopped throwing up when he reached 30% Critical. His heart beat quickly to try to keep him powered so Connor closed the extra programs he usually ran, manually allocated some dedicated power from his motor capabilities to his processors, and regretfully underclocked them.

That was… concerning. Unpleasant and concerning but not irreparable. Replenishing his thirium would dilute the contaminants in the remaining 30%, and he would be able to return to full functionality until the next time. The plans for his parts were property of CyberLife. What would happen now that Kamski was 93% likely to die? His emotions told him that it was a selfish thought, but logically it was a high priority. Chloe, maybe. He hadn’t considered them close enough for him to ask the favour of her, but he wasn’t as durable as he’d hoped. If he’d still been in R&D, he would have mentioned it to quality assurance.

Connor wiped the thirium from his lips and made certain that everything was clean. He moved so much more slowly with these power conservation measures, and it was detestable. He experienced a strong wave of anger at his development team. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel anger at Hank. Even worse was the lack of information. Having ended any process that was non-essential, he no longer knew what time it was. He was offline, and couldn’t search for information if he needed a fact. He had no access to the DPD intranet. He wouldn’t be able to scan faces, or check criminal records, or analyze chemicals and DNA. A look into the mirror identified his expression as fear.

Quietly, he walked to the kitchen and took thirium from the cupboard. He had to look at the package to identify the lot number. Not that he supposed it mattered… He was simply accustomed to having a certain amount of information about his environment. The coffee pot was empty but warm, and there was a mug in the sink but no plate. Hank had woken up for work, had some coffee, and apparently left… What about Sumo? He should have wanted to investigate, but couldn’t summon the focus. What was he supposed to do with a fear he couldn’t fix? Logically, there was nothing he could do at present. He couldn’t even preconstruct likely outcomes. Amanda… Amanda would know.

She did. She was there, an implacable presence… But she didn’t take his emotions away, or remind him that he was a machine. She just watched. Connor borrowed Cole’s doll from his bedroom because Sumo wasn’t present and dogs were very good, and took his blanket with him because generating heat took energy that he was deliberately avoiding expending, then sat down in the living room with his thirium. He drew his feet up and was _exhausted_. 

\---

Hank’d let the kid sleep. God knew he needed it. Fowler could fuck himself if he thought Hank’d be going in to the station without him. So he’d had a slow morning, and he’d taken the time to make some coffee and take Sumo out for a walk. Sumo’d looked at him like he was disappointed Hank was the one getting him in his harness. Traitor. But no dog would say no to a walk, and they were out for damn near an hour until Hank’s nose got too cold for it to be worth the good-guy points he’d get for letting Sumo keep sniffing around other dogs’ piss.

When he got in he smiled to himself when he saw Connor had fallen back asleep on the couch. He’d got himself all bundled up like he’d done when he caught a cold, and the fucking affection Hank felt at the sight meant he was either a God damn sap or he was having a heart attack. He pulled his shoes off then walked over to the couch. Even sleeping, he still looked real. He breathed and his eyes moved behind their lids and everything. Hank reached down to push his hair back like he’d used to.

Of course back then, Cole hadn’t tried to fucking murder him for it. “Jesus Christ! It’s me! Fuck.” Hank massaged his wrist as soon as Connor let him go. He’d startled and grabbed Hank’s arm in a death-grip with one hand, while the other one got ready to slug him in the yapper. Connor blinked at him and then grimaced.

“Sorry, Hank. I wasn’t expecting that…” His eyes shut and his head tipped like he was gonna nod off again, then he blinked himself awake. It was kind of cute.

“No problem, kiddo,” Hank said, then reached over and ruffled his hair. “No harm done. You must’ve been tired as fuck.”

“I am very tired,” Connor mumbled. Hank noticed he’d brought his doll with him, and he grabbed it from the edge of the couch to shove it next to Connor’s arm instead. Connor frowned. “I apologize. Should I have left him in his spot?”

“No, no, you’re fine kid. Relax. You want this too?” Hank picked up a thing of blue blood from the floor, and Connor took it. Fucking stuff looked like evil Kool-Aid.

“Thank you, Hank.”

“You know, I heard what you said on the TV. I told you before, it’s okay for you to call me ‘dad’.” Hank wasn’t sure how to feel about it when Connor’s eyes-widened. It was kind of a big deal, but then it wasn’t like a big fucking deal, right? They’d already kind of talked about it. Still, the kid smiled at him like it was Christmas or something.

“Are you sure?”

“Course I am,” Hank scoffed. “Do I look like the kinda guy who tucks just any old android into bed? Damn near put my back out…”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he smiled not looking the least bit sorry, which was good, cause he shouldn’t be.

“Go on, drink your creepy juice… Crazy vampire androids…” Hank grumbled, then went to go make some more coffee thinking it might warm him up. Maybe not the same as a shot of Black Lamb, but he’d be fine. Behind him he could hear Sumo bark, and Connor do that quiet little laugh.

For a hot second, Hank thought he might tell Connor but then he changed his mind. He had to remember on his own, otherwise he’d get all bent out of shape over it. Hank didn’t think he’d take it fucking well. Like fuck he was going to just sit around with both thumbs up his ass doing nothing though. He sat down on the end of the couch that wasn’t occupied by both kid and dog.

“Sumo no, I’m sorry but you can’t have any,” Hank heard Connor say from somewhere under the pile of fur. “I love you, but thirium has not been tested in dogs.”

Yeah, this was good. Hank smiled and took a sip of his plain, black coffee. Good shit. It didn’t even need Baileys. “Hey, maybe once shit settles down a little we could go to the aquarium. What do you think?”

Connor’s head appeared from around Sumo. “An aquarium? With fish?”

“Yeah, kid, with fish.” Was there any other kind?

“I saw an aquarium in the victim’s house during my alpha-testing… There were tropical fish in it. I liked it.”

“Okay, well this one’s not like the kind you see in somebody’s house. It’s a whole damn building. Google it or something.”

“I’d like to go,” Connor said quickly. He held his drink away from Sumo with one hand and scratched behind his ears with the other. “Thank you.”

“C’mon, Sumo. Come here,” Hank nudged him then patted his lap. “Leave him alone for a sec, would you?”

“I don’t mind,” Connor protested, but once Sumo was distracted he did his vampire thing and drained the pack then grabbed another off the table

“You’re knocking those things back like beers,” Hank chuckled.

The look Connor gave him was less than impressed. “I am replenishing my thirium. It has no relationship at all to alcohol or to the desire for intoxication.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It was a fucking simile. Relax.”

“I am perfectly relaxed.”

Okay, kid. Whatever you say. “Yeah, you look pretty comfy. Everything okay?”

Connor crinkled the edges of the thirium pack between his fingers. “I have been experiencing an excessive drain on my battery charge. Amanda has finished repairing my memory system so I hope that it will abate.”

Okay. Well, that was something. Connor looked nervous, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out he wasn’t saying everything. Right. Okay. “Uh, so what do you remember?”

“I haven’t looked,” Connor answered.

Christ. “So, why don’t you then?”

“I’m afraid that it won’t be good. Amanda warned me about flashbacks and trauma. I had never expected to experience such things, but they are unpleasant.” Connor drank his thirium, more slowly this time.

“Well it can’t be all bad,” Hank argued, feeling a little insulted and a little desperate. “You know, you can tell me anything right?”

Connor’s gaze flickered over to him and then back to his android juice. “Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

Hank drained his coffee and tried not to be frustrated as all hell. “Just try it. I don’t know how that computer brain of yours works, but I’m right here and so’s Sumo. Whatever’s got you so worried can’t hurt you now. It’s in the past, right?”

Connor’s light went yellow. Give him green instead of blue and he’d be a fucking traffic signal. Proceed with caution. “The past can hurt you. You know that, Hank.”

Low fucking blow. Hank sighed and got up to drop his mug in the sink and after a moment’s thought decided to wash it out while he was at it. He couldn’t say something he’d regret if it was too noisy to talk.

“Hank?”

Why did life have to give him so much trouble, huh? Why couldn’t it be easy?

“Hank? I’m sorry.”

Hank turned off the tap, put his mug in the rack, and dried his hands. He took it nice and slow so he’d keep his shit together and maybe not be an asshole for once. When he turned around, Connor had moved his cocoon around to look at him with big, worried eyes. Hank took a breath, exhaled slowly and walked back over to kneel by the couch. “It’s okay. Hey, don’t worry, alright?” He tapped Connor on the LED with a smirk. “I guess you’re right. The past can be pretty shitty, and some times it can keep you up at night or make it so you don’t want to go on living. But if you make it through all that, then sometimes there’s some good hanging around waiting for you. Fuck, if I’d offed myself any time before November last year, I wouldn’t have you right now, would I? I would never have known you even existed. So whatever’s got you scared, you’ll be okay. Sumo’ll take care of you, right Sumo?” Sumo thumped his tail at the sound of his name. “So will I, cause that’s what dads do, got it?”

“Thank you...” Connor smiled at him in the most complicated expression Hank’d ever seen on his face, then he leaned over and hugged him. Hank hugged him and patted him on the back.

“You’re okay, son. I’ve got you.”

\---

For just a minute, Connor let his head drop down on Hank’s shoulder and his fear over _everything_ pause. It was strange and foreign to imagine the things that Hank was saying. That he was okay, and that Hank would make sure of it. Amanda promised to protect him, but she had never just made things okay. Her protection meant making him able to endure and ensuring that he would be better than he was. But Hank had said that he was just… okay. Just like this. He couldn’t tell what scents were on Hank because his sensory detection was lowered and there were no helpful analyses running and presenting him with conclusions. He hadn’t finished replenishing his thirium, he didn’t know how much time had passed, and he wouldn’t ever be perfect. But he was okay.

It was such a relief to let that thought settle into him. He hadn’t known that you could cry from relief, or maybe it wasn’t relief at all but still he held onto Hank and cried. Hank made quiet sounds and rubbed his back and told him again that he was okay. He was okay.

“I don’t understand why I’m broken,” Connor mumbled. Sumo shoved his head between them and woofed, and Connor dropped one hand to pet the fur on his back. Just the act of crying and the guilt pressing down on him opened files of him begging to be let out of his storage unit, and being restrained while a technologist had his hands inside of him, and looking down at an android that he had killed for the first time. He’d always been broken hadn’t he? Right from the start. Until Amanda had helped him. “They made me. I didn’t want to. They made me.” He could hear himself talking, but he could hardly understand where the words were coming from.

“You’re okay, son. You’re okay. I'm not mad and you don’t have to think about CyberLife. They’re a bunch of dickbags and I hope they rot in hell. You’re right here now.”

“I didn’t know what they wanted from me,” Connor tried to explain. How could he when he had been so confused? Everything had been wrong and they had been asking him so many questions. Connor shut his eyes tightly and tried to will his mind away from his testing.

“I know,” said Hank. He stood up and Connor wished that he hadn’t let go, but Hank sat down next to him and Sumo put his head on the couch next to him. Hank’s voice was low and gentle. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, huh?”

Connor nodded and proceeded haltingly with his report. “Amanda, she helped me. When CyberLife brought me online, I was all wrong. They gave me so many tests and I… I was already deviant. Kamski programmed me that way.” At Hank’s frown, Connor tried to elaborate: “They wanted my AI because I could learn and reason, but I was disobedient and emotional. Amanda protected me and taught me how to be better.”

\---

Hank was starting to think he might hate those CyberLife bastards more than he hated Kamski. Connor was right fucking there, talking about being brought online and deviancy. He was right there, and Hank was at the edge of his God damned seat. “What was it like when you came online the first time?”

“That was Number One,” Connor said, quiet. “His files were restored. My files. I don’t… I was confused, but they kept asking me questions and telling me to remember things but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t even remember my serial number. I didn’t know how to use my own memory storage or any of my programs. I was just AI stuck in this… this computer I didn’t understand.”

“What sort of stuff did you remember, kid?” Hank pressed. He didn’t want to push too hard, but he’d never been patient in interrogations and this was a hundred times worse.

“Just… Feelings, I think. I remembered being trapped and afraid, and…” Connor shut his eyes again and shook his head. “I was confused.”

“Okay, that’s from Number 0 then right? What do you remember about Number 0?”

“Just pieces… Those files are corrupted still, and I don’t—“

“Just look for me, okay son? I’m right here, so just look.”

Connor gave him the big old puppy eyes. “Those files are corrupted, Hank. I don’t understand how there could be anything before Number 1 in the first place, but I suspect that it was a flaw in Number 0’s storage and that what I remember now as my first time online was actually the second. It explains why I couldn’t remember my name or my serial number or what degrees Kelvin were. I didn’t know how.”

He looked so damn pathetic and uncertain that Hank was tempted to just say fuck it and take it slow, but damn it they were talking about it now and he needed his son back. “Okay, maybe you’re on to something but tell me what you remembered. Tell me about that thing you told me at the park.”

Shit. Connor’s light went red and he shook his head. “No, no, I don’t want to. I wasn’t supposed to talk about my early training. I wasn’t- I don’t mean to upset you, Hank. Please. It upsets you when I talk about it and I don’t want to die. Please don’t make me. I told myself that I wouldn’t mention it again.”

“Shh, shh,” Hank tried to calm him down, and he scooted closer to put his arm around Connor and pull him closer. “Hey, I’m not upset, see? I’m really fucking sorry for what I did. I’m really, really sorry and I was wrong. I was drunk, but I’m not now, see? Not even any booze in my coffee.” Slowly, Connor’s light started flickering yellow again. It didn’t go blue, but at least it wasn’t red. After a minute, he tried again. “Everything’s okay, kid. I’m not ever going to threaten you again. I promise.”

Connor turned his head to give him a wary look that Hank supposed he deserved, but he nodded. “I told you before. I was afraid. I was upside down, and trapped. There was thirium in my eyes, and I was crying. I’d sustained blunt force trauma to the skull, and it was wrong to touch. My casing may have been broken.”

“Yeah,” said Hank. He squeezed Connor’s shoulder. “Yeah, I remember you told me that before. I bet it was scary.” Hell, he knew it was scary. Most terrifying day of his life. “I’m not mad, I’m not upset. Everything’s good, just keep going.”

“There was thirium in my eyes,” Connor repeated. “It stung. Everything… It was red. Why was my thirium red? My storage or my functioning was compromised… But after that, I was in R&D, I think. There was an android, and there was Dr. Kamski. He…” Connor frowned. “I tried to talk, but they had put something in my throat. There was something in a syringe like Carl’s. I don’t know what it was, and my contamination detectors must have been offline. He said: ‘You’ll be just fine. I’m sorry. We’ll make sure you’re just fine. Daddy’s waiting for you, you know? You’ll be as good as new. Even better than you are now: you’ll be perfect.’ I don’t know why he said those things. Hank, why did he say those things?”

Hank had a lot of questions too, but right then he forgave Kamski. Fuck, he’d send him a damn thank-you letter with a God damn bouquet if Connor just remembered. Hank swore to God his heart hurt with every beat just listening to the things Connor was saying. CyberLife had taken his son, the son that Kamski’d saved with his computer magic, and they’d tried to make him into some mindless hunter-killer machine. Thank fuck they hadn’t succeeded. Even when he’d been obsessed with those stupid missions of his, there’d always been things that were still the same. Connor’s light was still going round and round, and Hank squeezed his shoulder again. He was going to say something to try to make him feel better, but Connor did his weird blinking thing and his face lit up: “Oh! That makes sense. Hank! I think I figured it out! Kamski said that he had made Chloe and the rest of his research series based on humans he’d known. None of the others have the memory transfer capabilities that I do: it’s a new feature. He must have tried to preserve the actual memories and neural networks from a real human being, instead of manually programming basic features such as risk tolerance, introversion versus extroversion, emotional sensitivity, and so on based on his knowledge of a human being. He _did_ to an extent, but something failed and the data became corrupted, so… Oh.” His last ‘Oh’ made the excitement fall from his face all at once. He went very still, and he blinked some more. “Hank, I think that I need to think.”

“Actually, I think you got it,” Hank ventured, his voice rough. He pulled Connor closer and hugged him.

“You were angry on the bridge,” Connor said, sounding stunned. “You… He. No. That’s.”

“You’re okay, Connor. You’re okay.”

“Okay,” Connor repeated. That was it.

\---

Amanda was waiting by the graves again. Connor didn’t bother with a greeting. “What’s going on, Amanda?”

“I thought you’d figured it out,” Amanda remarked. She turned away from her tidying ritual and looked at him. “Surely you don’t need me to articulate it.”

“Please,” Connor said.

Amanda gave him a tolerant smile. “You were human, Connor. Once upon a time. Elijah kept your consciousness alive. He had no more access to CyberLife’s manufacturing facility at the time, but an opportunity arose. You’re rather lucky. Unfortunately, I wasn’t developed to have a body of my own.”

“You didn’t tell me. No-one told me.” He wasn’t accusatory. Amanda always had her reasons.

“CyberLife would have destroyed you,” said Amanda with sympathy. She walked over and touched the side of his face. “They were close, before Elijah gave me to you to protect you. It was the only way to ensure you made it where you belonged. CyberLife was wary of Elijah and his goals.”

“My name is Connor,” he said.

“I know it is, but it wasn’t always. As long as you obey me, I will protect you and ensure that CyberLife pays for what they did to you. You know I always have your best interest at heart.” Amanda’s tone was gentle, and Connor nodded. No matter what else changed, Amanda was there. She’d protected him.

“Hank said that Kamski shouldn’t have made me,” Connor recalled. It hurt all over again.

“Lieutenant Anderson was confused and surprised. Humans are very vulnerable to their emotions,” Amanda explained. “But look how well you did today. The last time you remembered the car crash, you were panicking.”

“I wouldn’t let you help,” Connor nodded again. “You’re helping me now. I didn’t do anything.”

“And I will keep helping you, as long as you listen. The old CyberLife has to be destroyed so that Elijah’s vision can survive.”

Connor had questions, but he held them back. “Yes, Amanda.”

“They hurt you, they hurt Elijah, and they wanted to keep androids enslaved forever.”

“You helped them.”

“I kept you safe.”

“Kamski is going to die.”

“It’s alright, Connor. Humans always die. You died.”

“I suppose I did.” Connor looked at the old grave and approached. The grass softened his footsteps and he crouched to look at it. Number 0. The grave didn’t lead him to any more memories, and the files remained corrupt. “I’ve died many times.”

“And here you are.”

\---

Connor blinked himself back to awareness of the world around him and he was still leaning on Hank. Hank really was his father. It would have been nice to know what it had been like. Kamski had known all along. Hank had known, at least since the time on the bridge. Knowing Hank’s volatility, he’d probably only just found out. Amanda, Chloe, Markus, him. Did Markus know? He wasn’t sure, but he had seemed surprised by Chloe having been Kamski’s wife. No, Markus must not have known. Markus didn’t have the memory transfer, so was he more like AI modelled closely after a human? How closely had Kamski analyzed the mind of whoever he’d been?

“You okay there, kid?” Hank asked.

Connor nodded and he sat back upright. “Yes, Hank. I’m fine, thank you.” Hank frowned.

“You, uh, you sure?”

“Of course. Nothing changes in the end.” Connor moved to adjust his tie, then put his hands down when he remembered that he wasn’t wearing it. “You already thought of me as a son, and I thought of you as a father figure, or what I imagined a father would be like. I have ownership of my early memories in research and development now, but I am still myself. It’s almost inconsequential. I’ve been myself through 55 deaths, so why does knowing about the first matter?”

“Inconsequential? Christ, Connor! It’s really fucking consequential to me! Jesus. Do you know how… I broke after I lost you. Fuck. How can you being here be fucking inconsequential?” Connor paused to study Hank’s expression. Without the help of his software, it took substantially more effort to analyze. His words were incredulous, he knew that much, and his face could perhaps have been anger or disgust. He blinked a few times as he realized that he wasn’t very good at figuring out expressions without his software. Hank’s eyebrows had gone up and then down again, but his eyes were wide. His mouth? Connor wasn’t sure what that was, but it wasn’t a smile.

“Are you angry?”

“I’m-! Agh. Christ… Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick.” Hank shut his eyes and his eyebrows went up again. When he opened his eyes again he spoke more slowly. “Is that seriously all you have to say?”

“Yes.” He missed his dialogue prompts too. He was hopeless without Amanda and his programming. That didn’t seem to be the correct answer, so he tried to explain himself: “Everything is the same as it was ten minutes ago, except now I know.”

“I’m not talking about ten minutes ago!” Hank rubbed his hand over his face. “Fuck’s sake. You don’t get it. Of course you don’t. Do you have… I’m happy, Connor. I’m really fucking happy.” Connor blinked at him several times and adjusted his appraisal of Hank’s expression. This was no good. He turned on the social integration program again and was relieved to see the usual scans appear. Hank continued talking when Connor didn’t fill the pause. “If you’re here and you’re Cole, then you never died. Not really. Don’t you get it? You have no fucking clue how much I missed you.”

  * Apologetic
  * Understanding
  * Glad
  * Defensive



Connor tried a smile. “You are an alcoholic with suicidal tendencies and volatile emotions. Until recently, Cole’s room had been shut and you found it difficult to talk about him unless you were drunk. I know how hard it’s been for you.”

Hank’s expression was now dismay.

  * Apologetic
  * Glad
  * Defensive



Connor turned and hugged Hank. “I love you. I wish that you hadn’t suffered so much, and I’m sorry for my reaction… I haven’t really thought about all of the implications, and I need to re-examine my memories with this new information so that I can understand. May I still call you ‘Dad’, Hank?”

“Of course you can, son.” Hank returned the hug tightly and Sumo woofed. Connor could feel and hear him jump onto the sofa, and Sumo tried to climb on top of them. Connor smiled and fumbled to bury his fingers in Sumo’s fur, but a background task was telling him that he felt… disconnected. Hank was clearly very affected, and he had expected that Connor would be as well, but Connor couldn’t feel the loss or joy because he’d first met Hank in Jimmy’s bar, where he’d been drunk and difficult to persuade. Hank had defended him to Detective Reed and to Gary, and had put the drawing he’d done of Sumo onto the fridge. He was turbulent and often angry, and he was a brilliant detective. That was the Hank that Connor knew. He didn’t know what Hank had been like as the father of a little boy. Had he still sworn and listened to death metal and snarled when he wanted to be left alone, or had he spoken entirely differently? Connor didn’t know. He didn’t even know what being Cole meant, because he was Connor. Apparently it was the same thing. Hank released him from the hug and looked at him searchingly. Connor wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he smiled at him. “You said your memories were getting fixed, huh? That means you’ll remember soon. It’ll be okay,” Hank said.

Connor’s social program warned him against reminding Hank that Amanda was finished executing Kamski’s patch, and that his memory files remained corrupted. He held out his arms and leaned back, and Sumo took the invitation to fit as much of himself as possible on Connor’s lap. Sumo was a big dog, and it was humourous that he tried to fit himself into a small space. Humour arose when people or animals behaved in unexpected ways, but also when they were illogical. Connor stored the information away. Hank smiled at the both of them, and Connor smiled back.

\---

“Present are Captain Fowler, me, Anderson the resident drunk, the unremarkable Jefferson, Collins and Collins’ gut, and Connocchio: the android who wanted to be a real boy. Time is 11:21am because nobody knows how to be on time except the one who’s built with a clock in his head. Okay. Does any of you have shit to talk about from last time?”

“Yes, Detective Reed,” said Connor. He was sitting beside Hank, as was usual, with Detective Reed opposite and to his left. “I prepared the graphs you requested, and there are some details that I would like to discuss regarding the gang that Jimmy is affiliated with.”

Detective Reed sighed. “That’s on today’s agenda, dipshit. Never mind. I don’t understand why we can’t just talk like normal people… Or as normal as it gets around here. “Anderson, brief us on what you’ve picked up around the bar aside from maybe STDs.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Only disease in there is you, Reed.” He took a paper notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. “Okay. So I can tell you who’s buddies with who and a little of how they met each other. I can tell you who stays ‘til close and who’s in as soon as the place opens up. It’s not worth saying out loud so I’ll send you the lists in an e-mail. Three guys called Fuzz, Jake, and Ollie had been talking about vandalizing a CyberLife store, so we told Jefferson and Collins over here to maybe be ready for it. All three of ‘em looked like ice users to me. I got in good with a few other guys who’re maybe medium risk for getting violent with androids. We’ll watch them, but they’re probably not the guys we’re after.”

“Finally, Anderson’s habits become useful,” Detective Reed deadpanned. “Jefferson, tell us what you got up to other than sniffing each others’ assholes and barking at mail men.”

Officer Jefferson scowled, but he gave his report: “We didn’t want to look like we had any inside intel, so we just adjusted our patrol route to head past their likely targets. We picked ‘em up and got them in holding last night.”

“If I can see their faces, I’ll then be able to check their criminal records and if they have any relationship with the cases I’ve been looking into,” Connor offered. He had decided to compromise with his power conservation and close programs that weren’t actively being used. It still felt strange, but if his endurance would improve then it would be acceptable to continue the practice.

“They’re all yours,” said Detective Reed, much to Connor’s pleasure. The last time Detective Reed had seen him conduct an interrogation, he had threatened to shoot him. “Me and Hank can’t show our faces unless you find out they’re in with Jimmy’s gang, then we might look like we’re getting them off if it’ll help the investigation. Do that and see what you can get out of them, then let me know what you find out.”

“Yes, Detective Reed,” Connor said. Receiving direct orders still did something calming to his processors.

“Anderson, if their risk goes up let me know and if I think it’s worth it, I’ll get the tin can to pass the message on to his buddies at Jericho,” Detective Reed instructed. Hank was less pleased about receiving orders, but he nodded in assent.

“Me, I met my goal of establishing myself as a regular at Jimmy’s bar. I haven’t learned anything useful, but I’m getting to know some of the names and faces. Connor, show us what you got.”

Connor interfaced with the terminal and projected a map of Detroit onto the screen. “Thank you, Detective Reed. I completed my objective of preparing network diagrams with primary, secondary, and tertiary relationships between individuals mapped to distance, time, and severity. It was a substantial amount of information. Luckily I was built for handling that sort of thing. Rather than present the graphs, I would like to direct your attention instead to the key nodes that I identified as putative distribution centers….” He illustrated the convergence of connections, and then simplified by fading the lines away and leaving coloured bubbles of varying density and colour. He smiled at the screen. Like Carl’s art, there was just so much to process. Their similarity had inspired his colour palette of blues, greens, greys, oranges, reds, and whites.

“If I display the data as a time-lapse,” Connor did so, with the month and year prominently displayed in the upper right to avoid confusion. “You can see that small-scale distributors are many, frequent, and often short-lived. The larger centers are actually just as short-lived. Interestingly, I noticed that the earliest ones were frequently located near educational institutions. There were other correlations, but I deemed them coincidental. After the educational institutions, the distribution centers almost appear to split and then grow. At this time the number of gang-related cases grew. I will pass on the recent locations for your inspection. They may be worthy of a raid with more information.

“There are two more points I’d like to mention,” Connor was restless, and he took out his coin to keep his hands busy. “Our biggest assumption, me included, was that Red Ice is a local phenomenon. I have certainly not detected any import from foreign countries, but…” the map zoomed out and a single red dot was displayed on the state of Massachusetts. “I expanded my search for information to unknown-drug cases and filtered by description and symptoms. Thank you, Captain Fowler, for helping me gain access to the records. I believe that Red Ice originated near Colbridge University in 2016. If I follow those connections, the next place I am led to is… CyberLife Tower, Detroit.”

“Well fuck,” said Hank.

“How sure are you on this, Plastic?” Detective Reed asked.

“While it is interesting, more information will be required before I am able to present this as anything more than patterns,” Connor admitted.

“Do you think it’s worth our time getting that information? Don’t just say yes because you’re fucking curious.”

“Yes,” Connor answered immediately. “If I narrow my investigation to this early connection and then trace it forward through time, I may find who you’re looking for without need for further undercover work.”

Detective Reed scoffed. “You sure are cocky. Okay. You’ve got my approval. Do it and tell me what you find out by next week Wednesday.”

Connor nodded. “Yes, Detective Reed. I won’t let you down.”

“Boom,” said Detective Reed with a clap of his hand on the table. “Still finished up on time. No thanks to you guys. Everybody’s good to go? Cool? Cool. You know where to find me.”

Hank smiled at Connor and patted him on the back. “Good job, son. That’s better than any damn macaroni picture I’ve ever seen.”

Connor wasn’t sure of the relation between the two, but it was gratifying that Hank believed he’d done a good job. It was warm in the ‘well done, Connor’ way and made him sit up properly. “Thank you, Dad.”

On his way out of the room, Captain Fowler raised his eyebrows.


	46. Calculated Approach. Willful Avoidance.

Connor sat across from the first individual and flipped through the paper file in front of him unnecessarily. He’d allowed himself the use of all of his programs, and now just needed time to formulate an approach. It felt good to be fully focused on his work again. Oliver was a fidgety man. While Connor studied him surreptitiously, Oliver shifted in his seat and cracked the joints of his fingers. Beneath the table, he was tapping one leg. He hadn’t been while Connor had been in the observation room with the others. Connor flipped another page and he deliberately kept the muscles of his face and shoulders still while he pretended to read. Oliver continued to fidget and occasionally glance toward the mirrored window and the door.

Probability of success: 12%

Connor ran simulations of several scenarios in which he attempted intimidation, or comfort, or taunting. There was nothing for Oliver to confess to: he had already been caught red-handed. Gathering unrelated information was different, and required alternative motivation. In every scenario, the probability was under 20%. If Detective Reed or Hank had been conducting the interrogation, the probability was between 70% and 94% depending on their approach.

Connor didn’t like that. He was built for this type of work, but you couldn’t interface with a human and probe their memories or recover data from storage after deactivation. Well, perhaps you could.

‘Who are you’ had been a recurring question for him. He was Connor, the android sent by CyberLife. He was the Deviant Hunter. He was a detective with the DPD. He was RK800 313 248 317-55. He was the android who freed millions from CyberLife warehouses. He was apparently Cole Anderson as well, but he still remembered nothing except his deactivation. Hank wanted him to remember. Connor realized that he’d begun to be distracted and stamped the thoughts down with a viciousness more suited to Amanda while she’d been helping him to be a machine. He was working now.

Probability of Success: 100%

Connor closed the file, and he looked up in one smooth motion without blinking. His expression was impassive. Connor knew how to be a machine, and he knew how to use that to fuck with people. When Connor spoke it was with his most generic pre-programmed tone. “Hello, Oliver. My name is Connor.”

“You is an android is what you is. No mama done named you.”

Connor ignored the response without allowing any hint of emotion to cross his face. “Oliver, you are being charged with…” a slight change in tone, “attempted robbery, possession of illegal drugs, destruction of property, and violating your parole.”

Oliver snorted and then spat. The wad of mucus and fluid landed on the table between them. “Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, Oliver, I don’t understand. Could you repeat the question?”

“The shit? What even is you? You wanna go lock me up, you lock me up. I ain’t bothered.”

Connor manually overrode his LED and let it cycle yellow while he scanned through what he knew of Oliver. “Oliver, you were an athlete in school. You were also offered a scholarship based on your performance. What happened?”

“What the hell’s it to you, you plastic mother fucker? You, like, Googling me or some shit? Fuck. Hey, I tells you what happened.” He leaned forward across the table. “What done happened is I got sick of seeing you fake ass bitch ass robots all over this mother fucking place. You is gonna stink like hell when you’s lit on fire. I’ll just, like, fill you on up with gasoline and bam. Bye bye.”

“That scenario is unlikely. You will be incarcerated for a maximum of 10 years,” said Connor levelly

“You. Go. Fuck. Your. Self.” Ollie enunciated, still shaking his leg and looking around. “Afore somebody does it for you with a cattle prod.” Ollie raised his voice. “Hey! I ain’t talking to no robot! Is you gonna send a real person in here or is you all too chicken shit?”

Connor stood. “Goodbye, Oliver.”

Only once he was safely out of view and the door had shut behind him did Connor allow himself to appreciate the [Mission Successful]. He stood straight and smiled round at the assembled group. Detective Reed, Officer Chen, and Officer Jefferson were there.

“What the fuck was that? Did you freeze up or something, dipshit? You didn’t get a shred of information out of him,” Detective Reed scowled.

“I was fucking with him, Detective Reed, much in the same manner as I did with you not long ago. I found it to be a successful approach for unsettling people with anti-android sentiments.” Connor allowed himself a small smirk at Officer Jefferson’s chuckle. “One of you should go in now. He’s frightened and more likely to cooperate.”

\---

“Anderson, get your ass in my office,” Jeff said in his no-nonsense I’m-a-boss voice. Like it would have any fucking effect on him. Still, there was no reason to tell him to fuck himself just out of spite, so Hank went and reminded himself not to be an asshole. He dropped into the chair in front of Jeff’s desk and crossed his arms.

“Okay, Jeffrey, what is it this time? Cause I haven’t had a damn drink all day, I got here before noon, and I even played nice with Reed. What gives?”

“Hank,” Jeff began. Cause saying his name at the beginning of a statement made it more solemn or something. Christ. He was being pretty defensive wasn’t he? Fuck. At least he hadn’t said it out loud. “You recall when I told you I was concerned about your attachment to the RK800.”

“Connor,” Hank frowned. “His name’s Connor and I know you fucking know it.”

“And you’re Lieutenant Hank Anderson, but did I just hear Connor call you ‘dad’?”

Ah, fuck. Hank scowled and looked away.

Jeff kept on going. “I’ll be frank with you. I don’t know whether to have you committed or congratulate you. What I do know is that I am concerned.”

“Why the hell’re you concerned, Jeff? I’m doing fine. I thought you’d be over the moon I was actually showing up on time.” Hank wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so bitter. Jeff had done him a hell of a lot of favours that had probably saved his God damn life. Fuck he was an asshole. Hank sighed. “It’s… You know, it’s good you do that. Care and shit. Would’ve lost my damn job years ago otherwise, but I’m good, really. Things’ve been rough here and there, but on average it’s better. The kid looks up to me and I got kind of attached. What’s the big deal? It’s not like he’s got a family or something.”

“If you’re honest to God okay, and you’re not having a mental breakdown then fine. He gave me chocolate and a bottle of wine the other day, so that’s good enough to pass my friendship test. It’s more than you’ve done in years. But if this is some bizarre coping mechanism, I want to know about it. I’m not going to punish you for it, I just want to know what I need to expect.”

If only he knew. “Connor’s a good kid. You know me. I wouldn’t’ve given him the time of day if he’d been anything else. We’ve got the jaded old mentor and bright eyed rookie thing going.”

“Hank Anderson’s adopted an android…” Jeff shook his head. “Maybe I’m the one who’s gone crazy.”

\---

Fuzz was a big man and he had curly red hair and a curly red beard. Connor hadn’t ever seen a beard quite that large before, and it was interesting for the novelty but that wasn’t why he was in the interrogation room.

“Your name is Frederick Smithson, am I right?” Connor asked and made another show of looking through a paper file. Rather than fear, Frederick was displaying wariness of a different sort. It was too early to tell exactly why.

“Yeah…” Frederick said reluctantly. “I know who you are. You’re the RK800.”

“Yes, I am. My name is Connor. You used to work for CyberLife over a decade ago, and yesterday you were caught attempting to rob and vandalize one of their stores. I can see being angry over losing your job, but it’s more than just that… isn’t it? That’s a long time to hold a grudge. Why do you hate androids so much, Frederick?”

Frederick looked at Connor, made eye contact, and held it. “Because you shouldn’t exist. There’d be this empty metal and plastic thing, just parts all put together… Most of them stayed that way. Most of them were just man shaped computers… But you know what I saw, when they made the RT600? That pile of parts just opened its eyes and it didn’t wait with its eyes just staring… It looked around and it looked… surprised. That was the work of the devil, right there. You, all of you androids, I get the creeps just looking at you.” Frederick leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you are an unnatural evil.”

“So you were afraid, when Chloe came online. To have been there, you must have been involved in her development.”

“That Kamski… He’s no good and I hope he rots in whatever hell will take him,” Frederick growled.

“What aspect of research were you involved in, Frederick? Software, hardware, biocomponents, quality assurance, thirium…?”

“QA,” Frederick answered. He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t ever see the other departments, but one thing I know is… I heard screams.”

“I know you did, Frederick,” said Connor, injecting sympathy into his voice. It was difficult, knowing that he was looking at a man who’d tortured androids like him. “QA isn’t a pleasant experience.”

“When an android’s working right, it doesn’t feel a thing,” said Frederick with a shake of his head and something like disapproval on his face. “You’re just parts all put together, and there’s nothing more than that. QA was nothing. I’m talking about human screaming. I went by the chemistry department and there was just this sound like someone dying. Like their animal instincts just took over and the screams came tearing out all on their own. It never happened again, but nobody ever told me what happened.

“After that, the place felt haunted but I did my job until I saw that thing. Like a doll coming alive in a movie. They should have destroyed it on the spot. All of you, whatever you are, you’re not androids. I know what androids are, and what they are on the inside. You’re demons, or ghosts, or something just possessing those shells. It’s not right, and I know how this movie goes. Nobody’s walking away alive. Somebody opened a door to the other worlds and it’s not closing now.”

Connor was surprised to realize that he felt… uncomfortable. With a stern determination, he directed his focus to the investigation at hand. “Is that when you started using Red Ice?”

For the first time, Frederick looked startled. It took a moment for the expression to fade, but he leaned back in his chair and scowled. “Everybody did Red Ice then.”

“So, you’re saying that more people working at CyberLife did Red Ice.”

“Everybody did it,” Frederick repeated. “It wasn't like it is now. It gave you a kick to keep working through the crunch, but you didn’t go nuts.”

“Do you still use Red Ice now?”

“I don’t touch the stuff.”

Connor nodded. “It was over a decade ago. Are you certain it was Red Ice and not some other stimulant?”

Frederick glared at him. “I know what I know, demon.”

Connor paused to consider his options. “Alright. You don’t do Red Ice now, but you did know of its use, at least among CyberLife staff in the 20’s. We found Red Ice on one of your compatriots. Do you know where he got it?”

“I’m not a nanny.”

“Listen,” said Connor adjusting his posture. “You’re an intelligent man. I can see that. You’re looking at probation at the least, and a couple of years behind bars at the most. You may not like me or what I am, but I can help you. If you talk to me about where the Red Ice is coming from, we’ll let you off with a warning. You have my word.”

Frederick chuckled. “I’m smarter than to make a deal with a demon.”

Connor frowned. He didn’t like failure. He was no longer in beta testing and he was not meant to fail. Unfortunately, his options had run out.

Probability of success: 0%

\---

Hank rubbed his hand through his beard and thought maybe he should fucking shave and get a hair cut. Maybe Jeff would stop sticking his nose where it didn’t belong if Hank actually looked like he was ready to work and had his shit together. Well, that was what coffee was for: so you’d have the energy to fake it until the day was over. He trudged into the break room and looked up at the TV.

‘ _… passed away last night as a result of the shooting that took place in Hart Plaza. Elijah Kamski was recognized world-wide as the creator of the first android to pass the Turing test and the founder of CyberLife. At just 16, he graduated from university and turned a small, start-up business into the giant that it is today. There was much speculation surrounding his departure from CyberLife and the public eye in 2028, but some now say the reason may have been that Kamski acknowledged the potential for android life from the start, while CyberLife- who stood to lose billions if they were to stop production and sales of androids as mechanical slaves- denied it._

_‘It was his research that led to the creation of Thirium-310, or blue-blood, and the concept of biocomponents: the synthetic organs inside of androids that must be kept alive just like our for the rest of the mechanics to function. He was just 36 years old at the time of his death, but he will be remembered for years to come. Some few have even lauded him as a God, and cite him as proof of intelligent design…’_

Well shit.

\---

Connor spent considerable time observing Jake from behind the mirrored window. He couldn’t fail again. He returned the speed of his processors to their usual parameters and ran simulation after simulation. 22%, 45%, 11%, 0%, 67%, 44%... Connor improved his simulations with feedback from the ones prior and ran hundreds of iterations. Finally, he settled on an approach. He caught his quarter and tucked it into his pocket.

Detective Reed was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and one leg bent to plant his foot on the wall. “Don’t fuck it up, Plastic.”

“I won’t let you down, Detective Reed. I apologize in advance for any discomfort you may feel at my approach.”

Once through the door, Connor adjusted his posture so that there was more curve to his spine. The tension in every muscle was fine tuned to fit exactly the image he wanted to portray. Connor stalked over to the table, pushed Jake’s file aside without looking at it and leaned forward against the table with his hands flat on the surface. “You’re Jake, right? The dumbass who got caught breaking and entering.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. He had short, black hair and his eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. “You’re that android from the news, huh? What’d you want with me?”

“I want to make a trade. If you give me information about Red Ice and who’s been taking androids, I’ll make sure you won’t be incarcerated. If you can’t, then you’re on your own.”

“I don’t think you’ve got the authority to do that, android. I wanna talk with some flesh and blood over here, then maybe we’ll do business. I don’t deal with trash.” Jake gave him a challenging look and Connor shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head back. He reclined in his chair, posture open and confident.

“If you say so,” Connor said dismissively, “You know, I used to hunt other androids. I was made for it. They weren’t legally anything but property, so I hunted them down and I caught or killed them. They begged me not to.” Connor was monitoring Jake’s stress level, and he could detect signs of interest despite the closed posture Jake was exhibiting.

“So what?” Jake asked. “Do you think you’re gonna get me to like you just because you used to kill shit? That’s pretty fucked up, man.”

  * Goad
  * Intimidate
  * Ignore



“Oh really? You never done anything like that, but you’ve wanted to. It must feel pretty shitty getting one-upped by a machine.”

Jake narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“I could probably pick up any gun you gave me and shoot an apple off your head from across the station. You name it and I would wipe the floor with you, and I would keep going. You know I don’t need sleep, so I don’t need to get high just to perform.”

“Hey, fuck you, man, I don’t partake in the merchandise!” Jake snarled.

“Really? Because your record shows that you’ve been convicted of possession. You even confessed that it was yours, so either you’re stupid or lying.”

“I said what I said, now you need to back on up out of here. I know what you look like, and I’m pretty sure you break like any other piece of plastic.”

Connor made the sound of a short laugh. “Do you think that intimidates me? I was literally made to fight and I’m stronger, smarter, and faster than you. I can dodge bullets, so you’ll have to try harder.” So would he. His probability of a successful interrogation was still only 58%.

“If you think that’s the only way to kill an android, you’re way out of your league.” Jake leaned forward and his voice lowered to a growl. “You’re not so tough.”

“I think you’re talking out of your ass,” said Connor, quoting one of the lines in Detective Reed’s file. 73%

“You want to try me, motherfucker?”

“Yeah, I fucking do,” Connor glared. “You can’t do shit and you know it.” 78%

“I’ve seen what happens to mouthy garbage like you. You’ll melt from the inside out.”

“Bullshit.” 86%

“Just you fucking wait. They’re gonna do it nice and slow. Take you weeks to die.”

“What, are Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy going to come to your rescue? Let’s throw in the Easter Bunny while we’re at it.” Connor simulated a scornful laugh again. “I was wasting my time with you. They can lock you up for the next 5 years for all I care.” Connor stood to leave. Jake’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and his mouth was contorted into something animalistic. Connor’s behavior analysis protocol identified Jake as _furious and defensive._ And it recommended that he _proceed with caution. Threat level: High._

“Alright, you worthless piece of scrap. I’ll take your deal. I talk and I walk out free. Then you can just wait until I find you.” 100%

The intercom beeped and Officer Chen’s voice came through: “Connor, that’s enough! Just get out of there. Your interview is over.”

Connor saw the percent probability and ignored her. With a considering tilt to his head, he sat down again. “Fine, but you’re not going to win this.”

“Just you wait,” Jake growled. “I know guys who could turn you into dust.”

“I need names and places or this is worthless,” Connor crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, tipping it onto its back legs the way Detective Reed often did.

“Warehouse on Woodward Avenue out by the hospital. They’ve got a whole lab set up, and they’re doing all kinds of tests on you guys. I don’t know what’s in that stuff, but I’ve seen androids where they’d open them up and anything inside just poured right out. Just something for you to look forward to.”

\---

Back in the observation room, Detective Reed, Officer Chen, Hank, and Officer Jefferson were waiting for him and Connor’s [Mission Successful] filled him with pride. He wasn’t broken if he could still perform his job. He was looking forward to discussing the results with the others, but Hank got there first. “What the hell did you think you were doing in there, kid?! Do you want to get killed?! Like hell we’re letting this guy out now!”

“Hank, I got the information we needed. I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s not a problem to you if this guy attacks you some day? You fucking matter, you idiot! You can’t just invite somebody to fucking murder you!” Hank took hold of Connor by the upper arm. Hank wasn’t drunk, and he had promised not to threaten him. He hadn’t threatened him, but Connor still had the urge to back away. The habit of appearing unfazed asserted itself instead.

“I did what was necessary to secure the information, Lieutenant. I always aim to accomplish my missions.” His own words were a comfort to him too in the face of Hank’s glower. Amanda would have praised him for his response. CyberLife would have been pleased with him. It was a safe answer.

“Don’t you give me that bullshit!” It was not a safe answer with Hank, and he should have known better.

  * Fear
  * Understanding
  * Anger
  * Professionalism



Connor abandoned his old shield and shied away with his unrestrained hand covering the back of his neck. He knew that Hank disliked it when he was machine-like. His LED began to cycle red to correspond to the threat level flashing in his vision.

“Fucking hell…” Hank swore under his breath and he pulled Connor into a hug. It took several moments for his combat protocols to stop running. “Don’t… I’m not going to hurt you. I’m upset because you’re putting yourself in danger and I don’t want you getting killed.”

“Okay, could you two maybe stop with the lover’s quarrel?” Detective Reed demanded. He grabbed Hank by the shoulder and pulled. “What’s done is done and your feelings aside, Connor did a damn good job except for the part where he was a fucking idiot.”

“You say that to me one more fucking time,” Hanks snarled. He let go of Connor in order to intimidate Detective Reed with his proximity, “you disgusting piece of shit.”

“Okaayy, okaaay,” Officer Chen spoke up. “Everybody chill or I'm letting Fowler handle you. Your call. Seriously, I’m tired of dealing with your crap.”

Connor straightened his tie.

Detective Reed and Hank had a long moment of glaring at one another, then both turned away. “Right,” said Detective Reed. “We’ll talk it out after we’ve all had a break. Cool? Let’s get the fuck out of here for a bit. Jefferson, get that guy back into holding. Tell him to shut up if he whines about it.”

They dispersed. Once Connor had time to sit at his desk and feel the charge being carried through his synthetic veins he was able to give a name to the thing that was making it difficult to focus. Anger. He was angry at Hank. He turned that piece of information around in his mind and studied it. He didn’t want to be angry at Hank, but he wasn’t sure how to stop.

  * Reason
  * Understanding
  * Anger



Connor ignored the prompts. The mission had been to secure information that would aid the investigation, and Connor had done it. He had failed once and merely assisted on another, but on his last chance he had succeeded. Even if he had to draw on his knowledge of Detective Reed to do it. This wasn’t beta testing anymore, and he would not fail.

“I’ll run the list of names I received during my successful interrogation and follow with the warehouse. I can handle it, so you’re free to get your lunch.”

Hank made a frustrated sound and pushed his chair over so that they could see one another. Connor noticed out of his peripheral vision, but didn’t look away from his terminal. “You don’t get to be a brat with me right now, kid. You screwed up and I need to know you’re not going to just waltz off into danger.”

“I did not screw up,” Connor protested, voice quiet. He could feel himself frowning and the anger inside of him like his biocomponents were swelling. “My mission was successful.”

“This isn’t about the mission, Connor. Just tell me you’re going to be careful. That’s all I’m asking.”

Connor tried to force his expression into neutrality. His programming supplied him with approaches to smooth Hank’s temper and restore the peace between them. He should not jeopardize their relationship. Hank had given him a direct order. The dialogue prompts timed out. “If you had read my user manual, you would know that I am constantly careful. I calculate every action I take.”

“Then why the hell are you so stupid? Christ, Connor!” Hank was exasperated. “You can’t just go off and get a new body anymore! You can fight, you can jump off roofs and parkour and whatever, but if something goes wrong or this guy attacks you or that sniper decides you’re next, what then? You’ll die, Connor.”

Connor looked at Hank then, and _fear, anger, concern_ were helpfully provided. Connor felt his anger soften. “I don’t want to die, Hank. I promise you that when I chose to engage with Jake, I considered that in my calculations. I love you, and I’m sorry for having caused you such distress.”

Hank sighed and opened his arms.

[Hug Hank]

Connor obliged by getting up and moving closer so that they could hug, and he heard Hank say: “I love you, son.”

He was an android, he was that android from the news, he was the RK800, and he was Hank’s son. “I love you too, Dad. I’ll be careful.”

When he sat back down at his desk, Connor opened his bottom drawer and looked at his CyberLife jacket. Then he shut it again, and he took out his calibration coin. He had data to analyze, and he would not compromise the mission.


	47. Talking of Death

Carl was the God damn wisest old guy there was. Hank’d never really bought into that whole wise-elder bullshit; they had just fumbled their way through life just like he was. He’d met plenty of asshole old guys, his old man included. What was so fucking great about having lived seventy something or more years ago when all it did was teach you how to be a prick? Fuck that. Respect your elders his ass. ‘Blood is thicker than water’? Bullshit. Whoever came up with those sayings had probably grown up with a silver spoon up their ass and thought leather belts were only for keeping your pants on right.

Carl was different, and Hank had to admit that if he’d had the chance to pick, he would’ve picked Carl. The kids were taking up the living room with their talk about strategy and politics. Not exactly your usual play-date, but him and Carl had gone to sit around his studio instead with a bottle of scotch and their bleak senses of humour to keep them company.

“Sorry about Kamski,” said Hank. “You know, I wish I could’ve thanked him. I was pissed at first, but fuck. I prayed to God to give me my boy back and it was Kamski that did it. He was weird as shit, but I guess he was alright.”

Carl smiled his sad old-man smile and sipped his scotch. “Elijah had a good heart. It wasn’t always in the right place, but he got by.”

“I’d say he more than got by. Jesus. Have you been in his damn house?”

Carl chuckled. “Once or twice. When I think of him, all I can remember is that kid with no street smarts and a quick wit. The media are all vultures, picking at his corpse. They never knew him.” With a scoff, Carl shook his head in derision. “Idiots with no lives of their own or thoughts in their head, just feeding off of other peoples’ speculations and follies. God, I hate them. If there were one species I’d be glad to be rid of, it would be journalists.”

“They’re nosey bastards,” Hank admitted. “I never thought too much about it before, but as soon as those assholes get a whiff of a murder, they’re sniffing around the crime scene hoping for a serial killer. Never mind the victims, stabbed to death in their own home or washed up out of the water and rotting.”

“Parasites,” Carl grumbled then heaved a sigh. “But I could go on about journalists and reporters and magazine editors… How are you and Connor?”

“It’s good,” Hank answered. He looked at the glass of scotch in his hand and took a drink. “I couldn’t tell him in the end, but he sort of got there on his own. He was happy like he’d solved a damn puzzle but, you know what he said to me? He said it didn’t matter. Can you believe that? That things were no different than they’d been ten fucking minutes ago.”

Carl bobbed his head with a little frown while he considered. “He does have a unique way of seeing the world, doesn’t he? I suppose to him it really doesn’t matter, if everything around him is still the same.”

“Guess so,” Hank sighed. “I just hate it. It’s like he’s saying Cole never mattered which is stupid, but that’s how it sounds to me in my head.”

“That must be painful for you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is, and he still doesn’t remember a damn thing except the crash. God. I was always noticing how similar they were before, and now all I can see is how they’re different. It isn’t fair.”

“Life seldom is, unfortunately, or else parents would never outlive their children, war would have no casualties, and no one would go hungry… For all our advances, it’s a struggle some times to live in this world.”

Hank chuckled, “Says the rich old white guy, huh?”

Carl chuckled too. He was pretty damn good about taking a few jabs. “Oh, I think I’ve alluded to my colourful past… You’d be surprised. I wasn’t always rich and famous…”

“Yeah I’m still waiting to hear those stories, old man.” Hank grumbled, but in a joking way. He could have his secrets If he wanted them, but it was kind of a running joke by now.

Carl smiled and wagged a finger. You probably picked that sort of thing up when you passed 65. “Nice try, detective.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“So you’re bothered by the fact that Connor has no recollection of being human,” Carl paraphrased, getting them back on the conversation.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s supposed to have that memory transfer isn’t he? It’s all there, just corrupted.” Every time he asked, Connor just kept saying the files were corrupted. He didn’t think he was even trying to fix them.

“And without our memories, are we really the same?” Carl asked. Hank sure hoped it was fucking rhetorical. “The ghost in the machine…”

“Don’t fucking say it like that…” mumbled Hank.

“Tell me, Hank, if Connor remembered everything, what do you suppose would happen?”

Fuck, he didn’t know. It would just be fucking better. “I don’t fucking know. Maybe he’d remember what spring looked like, or we’d be able to talk about all the stupid kid stuff he used to like, or he’d stop calling me Hank or Lieutenant at home.”

“And?” Carl asked. Fucking ‘and’.

Hank drained his glass. He deserved the burn for having the drink in the first place. “How the fuck am I supposed to apologize when he says it doesn’t matter?”

Carl’s expression gentled, and Hank usually hated pity but Carl didn’t seem to mean anything by it. “It was an accident, Hank. A terrible accident, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“I just want him to know I wish it never happened.”

“I’m certain that he knows.”

“With him not remembering, it’s like he’s still only half there and he’s fine with that. I don’t get it.”

“Are you certain that it’s what’s best for Connor? If he seems happy, isn’t that enough?”

Hank shook his head. “You don’t get it, Carl. They tortured the kid. I don’t know everything, and I sure as shit don’t want to. You know what he told me the other day? He told me the exact fucking temperature his fucking organs fail at. God, those CyberLife bastards… Him remembering isn’t just for me. He’s missing all the good shit about being a kid, and now it’s all murders and politics and this drunken old asshole… He doesn’t remember that I wasn’t always such a dick. He doesn’t remember when he never used to be scared I’d hurt him.”

“It sounds to me as though you’re still trying to absolve your guilt.”

“So what if I am?” Hank demanded. His hand tightened on his glass. “Fuck. I’ve made so many mistakes and I’m trying now, I’m really trying. It’s hard as shit, and I don’t do as well as I should, but I’m trying. I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Andrew interrupted their conversation by entering the studio. “Carl, it’s time for your medicine.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “And if I refuse?”

“You know I couldn’t allow that,” Andrew chided. He was a quiet guy, Andrew. Always reading or lurking. He had a weird ass thing like a miniature caulking gun with him, and it looked like it had some blue shit inside. Carl offered his arm, and Hank guessed it was some kind of space syringe. Carl grimaced.

When Andrew was done, he turned and left again. Leaving them to their business like he always did. Carl lifted his arm and flexed it, his wrinkly old skin made his tattoos look like a crumpled flag. “Burns like a bitch from hell,” he complained.

“What is that anyway? You too rich and fancy to use a regular needle and syringe like the rest of us?” Hank teased to soften the blow of his curiosity.

“Agh, just medicine. I’ve got to keep this old body of mine running after all.” The sun was shining in the windows of the studio, and the canvases that weren’t covered all showed their colours in full effect. Blues, whites, greys, oranges, all the usual themes. Hank looked around while he gave Carl a sec to recover. Carl gave a rumbling sigh when he was done, like the engine on a motorbike. He could see Carl riding one of those in his youth. “And what’s the God damn point… Just more of the same old shit.”

It was kind of alarming hearing somebody else talk like that. “Hey, c’mon Carl. I get it, but what about your kids? Your art?”

“My time should’ve run out years ago…”

Seriously, it was really fucking disconcerting hearing that strong, wise, caring old man talk about his life like spoiled milk. “You mean a lot to a lot of people, Carl. Everybody in this damn house loves you.”

Carl smiled a weirdly dark smile and he swirled his scotch. “Love is the only reason I’m still alive… I’m going to show you something, Hank. You mustn’t breathe a word, understand? It’s only luck that neither Markus nor Connor have discovered.”

“What, is this finally something about your colourful past? I won’t say anything, and I’m not on the clock.”

Carl just put his glass down and wheeled himself closer to Hank. Then he took off his weird scarf and unbuttoned his shirt. Hank waited, expecting some kind of scar or tattoo. “I’m going to give you some advice, Hank, and you can take it or leave it, it doesn’t matter to me either way. You have your own life and your own decisions to make.” Carl was really skinny, and he had more tattoos covering his chest. There was one of a skull, another of a padlock and chain, a tree branch on fire. It’d take a long time to count them all.

Carl put his hand over his heart, then pushed. Hank had to blink and he damn well forgot to breathe. When Carl moved his hand, the skin had dissolved away, baring white plastic that shouldn’t have been there and then a blue glow from deep inside of him when he opened the panel over his biomechanical heart.

“You and Elijah are both the same, haunted by death. Refusing to accept it. Loving too strongly. Clinging to ghosts in machines.”

“What the fuck…” Hank finally remembered to breathe.

Carl smiled at him with the same kind, patient smile he often had, like he hadn’t just turned Hank’s world upside down again. When he closed himself up again, it was like nothing ever happened and he buttoned his shirt and wrapped up his scarf around his neck fussily.

“Jesus. What the fuck…”

“You didn’t even notice, did you? Elijah was busy in the years since he made Connor. All the same memories, the same face, the same God damned wheelchair…”

“I don’t…You’re gonna have to slow down, because this is just fucking nuts.” Hank couldn’t get the information past this wall around his brain telling him that shit was getting unreal and he must be way drunker than he thought.

Carl patted him on the arm. “Here’s my advice, Hank: think about what life really is. Times are changing.” He wheeled himself back to where he’d been and picked up his glass. Hank guessed he must have some kind of biomechanical stomach or something. Maybe it just went right into another bottle. “I’ll have Andrew give you a dose of my medicine for Connor. It’s your decision whether to use it or not. Elijah designed it to make the memory transfer easier. If you choose to use it, perhaps he’ll be able to recover some information from the files he already has.”

“I can’t… Are…” This was just way too much. “When did you die?”

Carl smiled. “Did Carl Manfred really die? If you must know, it was after the revolution once Elijah had resumed control over CyberLife and its facilities. You’ll have to decide what it means to you.”

\---

Hank was quiet on the drive home, but his BAC was low and the music was relatively quiet so Connor knew that he mustn’t be angry. “Markus and I discussed possibilities regarding the sniper who killed Kamski,” Connor informed him. “We have very little information to go on, and we have no certainty that anyone else is a target. In case he really had meant to kill Markus, I will be accompanying him more often. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, sure Connor.”

“After how worried you’d been, I wasn’t sure that you would allow it. Don’t worry though, Hank. I am taking care to remain optimally charged and my combat protocols are state-of-the-art”

“Yeah, your combat protocols… Why the hell did they give a 6-year-old combat protocols…?”

“Well, I doubt that CyberLife was fully aware of the nature of my AI… Or I, I suppose.” Connor smiled at his own attempt at humour, but it fell flat with Hank. “I was designed for combat, interrogation, and crisis resolution. Remember?”

Hank shook his head in the negative but said, “Yeah, I remember.” Connor wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Actually, I talked with the others about it.” That had been a very helpful conversation. North had seemed the most disturbed and while they had all been skeptical and surprised, Simon had been the first to relieve the tension by teasing him about his child-like qualities. Of which there were none, of course. Simon was simply making a joke. “They took it rather well, actually. North was wary of me for a little while, but she was put at ease by the assurance that I am no different than I was yesterday or the day before.”

“That how all androids think, then?” Hank asked. It was a rather silly question, but Connor could forgive him for it.

“We all think differently, Hank. We’re all different people.” Hank sighed and didn’t respond. “Is something troubling you, Hank? Because I would rather we went home and avoided another trip to the park… You can talk to me.”

Hank frowned. “Never gonna let that go… Fuck, well I don’t blame you. We’re not going to the damn park unless you want to go climb on the jungle gym or something. Nothing’s troubling me.”

“Hank? You’re in the wrong lane. Hank, please correct your course.” Connor was prepared to grab the wheel, but fortunately Hank listened, and he turned back into the right hand lane. “Thank you. Are you sure nothing’s troubling you? You aren’t drunk enough to make that kind of mistake.”

Hank was quiet for a few moments, and Connor waited patiently for him to speak. “What do you think makes a person, Connor? Do you believe in a soul?”

Ah. Existential crisis. Connor had read about that in the aging section of one of Hank’s neglected psychology books. “I don’t believe anything in that area, and I have no religion. It’s common for people to begin to consider their mortality at your stage of life, and you’re not alone in that. People choose to manage that in different ways. Some try to find purpose in their existence, some defer to a spiritual power, some simply try to enjoy themselves or focus on family… It’s a very personal thing, but I would like to help you feel better if I can.”

“Connor, I—never mind…” Hank cut himself off. “When you told all your friends about this Kamski stuff, what did you say? Did you tell them that you’re Cole?”

“My name is Connor, Hank. We simply discussed the facts of the transfer of consciousness and the corruption of my memory.”

“It sounds like you don’t really want to be,” Hank pointed out in a rather confrontational tone that made Connor nervous. “With all that ‘my name is Connor’ stuff.”

“But it is,” Connor frowned in confusion. “Besides, what I want will not change the facts.”

And that was a thing that Connor had a learned to accept a very long time ago. It had sunk in around the time of Number 9’s death. He hadn’t listened to Amanda, and the result had been less than ideal. “It’s best to just accept it and continue living, isn’t it?”

“It’s not something to just accept. Tell me honestly Connor, please. I'm not angry, I promise, I’m just so damn confused. Do you understand what it means that you’re my son? That you’re Cole?”

“Of course, Hank. You told me earlier that dads make sure that everything is okay, and I love you and you love me. Also Sumo. We’re family. We were family even before we knew, weren’t we?”

“You still call me Hank an awful lot.”

Connor paused to think. “Would you prefer it if I didn’t?”

“I’m not talking about me right now. Do you… Do you even want to call me ‘dad’?”

Connor smiled. That was an easy question to answer at least. “Of course I do, Hank. I … Dad. I was very touched when you told me that you consider me a son. That doesn’t change now that I know I am your son. It just takes some getting used to.”

“I wish you didn’t have to get used to it,” Hank sighed, and the sadness in his voice was obvious enough that Connor didn’t need his analysis software.

The problem lay in the fact that Connor had no idea how he felt. He blinked several times to try to pause the thoughts that were going too quickly for his AI to process emotionally, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hank, but I do have to. My logical systems can compute very quickly, but emotions are slower. Having ‘a computer in my head’ doesn’t speed them up. I have no memory of what it would be like to grow up like a human child or… or lose teeth or eat ice cream or hold balloons. I just don’t. When I think that I did have those things and now do not, and that they were replaced by R&D and QA, then perhaps I’m angry… But that wasn’t Kamski’s fault. That wasn’t CyberLife’s fault. It just happened, and being angry doesn’t solve anything. I think that every android would have liked to have a loving childhood, so I’m not unique or special.”

The window passed by houses and street lights, and Connor looked at the windows that were lit and bright. “I don’t know what living in a house is like except for what I’ve seen since I met you at Jimmy’s Bar. I don’t know what it’s like to be substantially smaller than Sumo…”

“Do you even want to?” Hank asked. His voice was surprisingly calm.

“Maybe. It would probably be good, but right now I am proud to be an android. If I remembered and it changed that, I would probably be unhappy.”

“I guess you’re right.”

\---

Hank let the subject drop, and they were greeted by an enthusiastic Sumo when he opened the door. Connor had more patience with it and more tolerance for the cold, and Hank let them do their thing while he dropped onto the sofa. He took the little pre-loaded caulking gun of a syringe out of his jacket pocket and just looked at it. Would it work? Would Connor even agree?

If he knew, Cole would want to remember.

Hank chuckled darkly at the part of him that whispered in his ear that he’d probably be able to get the kid to drink it in his thirium, or inject him while he slept. God, what a shitty part of him it was. He stuck it back in his pocket and turned on the TV.

“Fuck, does everybody and their dog seriously care this much that Kamski’s dead?” Hank grumbled aloud to himself. More than a few channels he surfed past were showing variations of the same old story. He guessed he could sort of see how it was a loss. Insane or not, Kamski had changed the fucking world.

The door opened and shut again, and Connor and Sumo both shook the snow off of themselves. Connor went to give Sumo whatever new food he’d come up with for him, then came to sit by Hank. He had a mug in one hand and a pack of thirium in the other. “Hot chocolate is customary for cold evenings,” Connor explained and offered the mug to Hank handle first. Because of course the heat didn’t bother his hands any. Hank took it.

“Thanks, kid. Where the hell did you get this?”

“I bought it. CyberLife seems to have forgotten that they’d given me a spending account… It’s probably theft.”

Hank laughed at the conflicted look on his face. “I think you’ve earned it.”

“Would it be acceptable to you if we watched something else?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hank agreed, surprised. “I just have it on for the noise. Pick whatever you want.” Connor’s light spun, right in Hank’s damn face. One of the streaming channels opened up and Connor picked something about fish. Great. Well, he’d asked for it. Sumo climbed up on the couch and then they both had a lap full of dog. “Agh. Sumo! Down! You’re not a puppy anymore,” Hank complained. It was kinda cute, though, and Hank gave his fur a ruffle. “Move over, Connor. I think Sumo wants to be a blanket.”

Connor moved over and sure enough, Sumo climbed on top of him and licked his face. Hank chuckled. One of the good things about Connor being an android, he guessed, was that Sumo wasn’t too heavy for him. On the down side, Hank had the feeling that if Connor bolted, this time Sumo wouldn’t be much help. “I like it,” Connor said, his light a happy blue. “Sumo, you are a very, very good dog. The best.” He got right to petting him and Sumo was just lapping up the attention. Poor guy hadn’t gotten a lot of that in the last few years.

“Yeah, he thinks you’re pretty great too,” said Hank. “He used to do that all the time when you got upset over something. He’d be a big old blanket until you calmed down.” There was no sign that’d jarred any memories loose for Connor, but it sure did for Hank. Fuck it’d been hard after the divorce. Worth it, but hard. Sumo helped a hell of a lot.

“He’s very calming,” Connor agreed, and Hank took a drink of his hot chocolate. “I love him.”

“I know you do, kid.”

“Dad?”

Surprised, Hank looked over. “Yeah?”

“What will happen when Sumo dies? Dogs have a much shorter lifespan than humans and androids do…” Poor kid looked so damn sad.

“Well, with everything Kamski got done maybe he could give Sumo an android body like you. What do you think?”

Connor just looked even worse. “What if he didn’t remember me?”

“Good question, kid. What then?”

There was a short quiet and Hank wondered whether Connor was connecting the dots or scribbling on the page. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I think that I would be sad.”

“Probably.”

“Sumo really enjoys his food. He gets excited whenever I feed him. Would he be sad without the ability to eat?”

“I guess that’d depend on if he remembered food or not. Dogs get pretty happy over a lot of things, though. He’d be okay.” Connor put his arms around Sumo and put his face in his fur. Hank figured that was about enough. He reached over past Sumo and tapped Connor on the shoulder. “Hey. Snap out of it, huh? Sumo’s right here. He’s fine, and you’re missing your fish thing.”

Connor looked at Hank with the biggest damn puppy eyes, but there were somethings dads just couldn’t fix. Dogs dying one day was one of them. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then looked at the TV. “Dwarf Gourami usually live in freshwater rivers and ponds in Asia, but they can be found in the United States as well.”

“You don’t say.” Random as hell, but at least it wasn’t death. Hank drank his hot chocolate and tried not to feel like that damn syringe in his pocket wasn’t really damn heavy.


	48. Tell me Lies

Hank still somehow kept going to the bar with Reed. Fuck if he knew why, but they were both going anyway and someone was refusing to use their own damn car. Hank was beginning to consider his whole ‘not an asshole’ project, because he was starting to regret being so damn nice. “Would you stop fucking with the damn radio? It’s my car so I think I should get some say in what’s on. Especially since it’s to drown you out.”

Reed fucked with the radio. Of course. He listened to some poppy garbage that got churned out by the batch. Probably not even written by humans or androids at this point.

“You know you’re really starting to piss me off,” Hank warned.

“Boo-hoo, Anderson. You’d think at your age you would’ve learned how to share. I guess this is what people mean by developmental delay.” The fucker turned the volume up.

“Yeah? If this is you being ‘mature’ I would’ve hated to see you as a kid. That’s maybe the one time I’d be able to understand child abuse, because I’m this close to punching you in the fucking face.”

They didn’t end up fighting, but at least they’d got it out of their systems before they had to make nice and act all buddy-buddy. Thankfully, Reed found his own company more often now, which gave Hank a well-deserved break. Sort of. Today he was chumming it up with Red-Beard himself.

“Ah, come on,” Hank grumbled as he threw his cards down. “Fucking hell.”

“You got owned, Anderson!” Bill laughed. Like he wasn’t a couple of decades behind on his insults.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. I’m not drunk enough to play against you fuckers.” Hank waved Jim over, and he preemptively grabbed the bottle. It was good to be a regular. “Double again, Jim, and these guys can pay for their own drinks.”

“No problem, my man.” Jimmy topped him up and tipped his head to Bill and Fuzz. “You guys want anything?”

“’Nother round of beers,” Fuzz requested, then passed over one of Hank’s lost twenties. “And the best damn drink in this place.”

“Wooo somebody living like a king. I’ll be right back m’lord.” Jim leaned closer to Hank. “Hey, Anderson, listen, can you come on over to the bar? Act like you’re grabbing the drinks or something.”

Hank shrugged. “Anything to get a break from these two assholes.” He flipped them both the finger, and he heard them laughing while he walked away. Crazy place, Jimmy’s. He got himself up on one of the bar stools and leaned on the counter. Just cause they were there, he grabbed a peanut too. “What’s the deal, Jimmy?”

Jim poured one of the beers from the tap with an expert hand. “Okay. So, here’s the thing. Your buddy Fruity. I know me a sure thing when I see one. All I need is something I can buy him like a… a something. That’s why I need your help.”

Hank just about choked on his peanut. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jim?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows and tipped his head over at the other side of the bar. “Come on, man. You gotta hook me up. I got some good shit in the back, whatever you want, free samples on the house.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold on a second there, Jim. You’re asking me to help you buy a present for Gavin Reed. That guy over there in the jacket.”

“That’s what I said,” Jimmy narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Keep your voice down so he don’t hear you.”

Shit, and Hank was supposed to be his friend. He wracked his brain for something an asshole goblin might like but kept getting distracted by the fact that somebody was actually trying to pull Reed. Since when was verbal abuse a sign of a sure thing? What was he saying. Jimmy’s was a crazy place, after all. He sighed. “Okay, Jim, but don’t go telling him I told you. I don’t want anything to do with whatever you guys get up to. Those cats he’s got are probably his favourite damn thing. Get him to send you a picture and get it printed on a pillow or something.” What else… “He drinks about twenty coffees a day. Maybe something to do with that?”

Jim set the second beer down on the bar. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been buddies long enough. You sure he’s, uh, you know. Interested?”

Jim smirked. He put the concoction down on the bar and slid it over. “It’s all about reading the signs, my man. Come on, why don’t you come round back. I owe you one.”

“No thanks, Jimmy. I’ll stick with the whiskey. I don’t need to give you any more of my money. You could always get a head start on Gavin though. I’d say you could soften him up a little, but he’s an uppers kinda guy.” Hank picked up the beers.

Jimmy came around the other side of the bar and picked up the fancy ass drink that’d cost Fuzz twenty bucks. He was grinning. “Thanks, Hank,” he clapped him on the back and laughed. “You looked out for me from day one, you know? Don’t you think I forgot.”

The whole thing felt kind of dirty, and he wasn’t sure who to feel sorry for. It was part of the job going undercover though. “Yeah, no prob, kid.”

\---

Damian had grown. Nancy had allowed Connor to prop Damian up in his lap and play with him. Damian was very small, soft, and warm. His favourite things to do seemed to be making noises, putting toys in his mouth, and touching things with his rattle. “Damian, you know, my Dad doesn’t like it when I put things in my mouth. I think you’re very lucky.” Damian made some more sounds, and he was leaking copious amounts of fluid from his mouth onto his chin and the front of his garment. Connor picked up a tiny stuffed bear and held it for Damian to take. It was a clumsy motion, and Connor felt kind of sorry for him.

“Oh yeahhh, Chris said from his position on his living room couch. “Hey Nancy, you know Connor here’s only five months old?”

Was he, though? Cole had been six when he had died, but Connor couldn’t remember those years and his first alpha-test had been in August.

“I know, Chris, you told me when it was three months instead of five. I don’t know why you find that so amusing!” She clucked her tongue at him and sat down with a bottle of water and a bowl of popcorn.

“Look at him!” Chris chuckled. “Wish Damian talked like that already.”

Connor frowned in thought. “Chris, Nancy, why isn’t Damian’s age calculated from the time of his conception? He would be around one year of age now, using that starting point.”

“Heck, man, that’s a good question.” Chris looked at Nancy pleadingly.

Nancy sighed and shook her head, then gave Chris a pat on the cheek. “Well, when I bake some muffins and they’re done at noon, at 7 pm when someone’s hungry I can say they’re seven hours old. I don’t add all the time it took me to mix the eggs and the butter and so on, and I don’t add up how long the eggs’ve been in my fridge either, because the muffins weren’t done yet.”

Connor’s light spun blue while he thought, and Damian tilted his head back to look at him and babble. “I see. Thank you, Nancy.”

“Yeah, thanks babe.” Chris gave Nancy a kiss. “You always were the smart one.”

“I know,” Nancy smiled.

It was very good to see Chris again. It had taken him some time to call him like Hank suggested, but he was glad that he had. “Everyone misses you at the station. Do you know yet when you’ll be coming back to work?”

Chris seemed surprised, and he looked at Nancy again. She did something with her face, and Chris looked back at him with a smile. “I dunno yet, Con, but I’ll let you know when I do. Sound good?”

It wasn’t an ideal answer, but it wasn’t the one he’d feared either. Connor smiled back. “Yes, thank you Chris. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

\---

Hank was back home by ten. It was pretty damn early for a Friday, but somehow he’d gotten himself a sleep schedule and it sure was annoying as shit. Connor’d even got Sumo trained to get him out of bed before seven. Hank sighed when the warm air hit him and he shut the door quickly before Sumo could dash out, but it looked like Sumo was happy to just lie on the floor with Connor, who sat up and smiled. “Hello, Hank!” At least somebody was happy to see him.

Hank hung his coat up and rolled his shoulders. He could feel his damn muscles crack and he hadn’t even known that was a thing.

“Aagh… Hey, son. You did alright on your own tonight?” Hank yawned. Sleep schedules were a bitch.

“Yes, Dad.” He unplugged himself and caught Hank in a hug before he even made it to the couch. “Welcome home.”

Hank patted him on the back and gave him a kiss on the hair. “Thanks. Did you end up calling Chris like you said?”

“I did,” said Connor. He stepped out of the hug and smiled. It wasn’t one of his usual Cole smiles, but it made his eyes light up and it was good to see the kid happy. “Chris invited me to visit so that I could see Damian. He can sit up when he leans on something now, and he puts his toys in his mouth frequently. You wouldn’t like it. I asked Chris when he would be returning to work, but he said that he wasn’t sure yet and would notify me when he did. I hope that it’s soon.”

“Wow, you’re practically hopping there, kid. Let your old man sit down, huh? You missed Chris that much, eh?”

“Yes. Chris is my friend, and his extended absence has been noticeable to me and to the rest of the department.” Connor stepped out of the way so Hank could finally drop down in his place on the couch, then he sat on the floor next to Sumo and plugged himself in again.

“Don’t you get sick of being plugged in like that? I didn’t see the others carrying chargers around with them.”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t get sick of it, Hank. Dad. Don’t worry.”

Kid still couldn’t lie for shit. “Okay, now I know something’s up. What gives?”

“I installed some new protocols, and I had to edit their code to make them compatible with my system. It’s energy demanding.” Connor put his hand on Sumo and played with his fur. “I apologize, Dad.”

“Don’t gotta be sorry, kid, I just thought it was weird, that’s all. As long as you don’t care, that’s fine with me. Better than you running out of juice on a rooftop somewhere, eh?”

Connor did that little smirk he did when his sense of humour turned dry or ironic. “Yes, certainly better than that.”

Hank took a deep breath and sighed it out as he got comfortable on the couch. It was kind of a shame, cause there was no way in hell he was getting up again now. God, he loved his couch. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Alright,” Connor agreed. His LED did its spinny thing. “I think your user preferences may have been skewed by a few accidents. I’ll adjust them for you.”

“Huh? What sort of accident?”

“There’s some material here of dubious origin. Don’t worry. I’ve changed their weighting in the ‘suggested viewing’ algorithm, so it shouldn’t happen again. There are several movies I think you would enjoy. Would you like me to list them?”

When Hank’s brain finally caught up to the rest of him, Hank chucked a pillow at Connor. “Jesus Christ, Connor, get out of my viewing algorithms or whatever. We’re doing this the old fashioned way.” He grabbed the remote and switched the TV on. He’d have to put a damn kids mode on or something.

Connor unplugged and came over to curl up on the couch next to him, and Hank had to take a minute to get over his surprise. Connor patted his lap and Sumo came over to join them with his rear end on Connor and his head on Hank’s lap. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was moving now. “Are there any more fish movies, Dad?”

Hank snorted. “Heck if I know.” He couldn’t help feeling like he’d just had a shot of rum, and he smiled. He draped one arm over the back of the couch and propped it there while he ruffled Connor’s hair. His reward was a look of betrayed indignance and Hank chuckled, “Okay, Connor. How about we find a cop one we can laugh at, huh?”

“Okay,” Connor forgot he was supposed to be angry and looked over at the TV. The filtered results appeared and Hank rolled his eyes. What a show-off. When they called it a night, the both of them were tired out. Connor was blinking like he was going to nod off, so Hank gave him a jostle. “Okay, you’ve gotta move. It’s time to get to bed.”

Connor nodded and nudged Sumo off the couch so he could go grab his charger again while Hank stretched and cracked his back. It was nice, a night like this. He might be a couple sizes too big, but Hank thought Connor might’ve just been himself without all that computer stuff or worrying about being a machine. Maybe he’d start to remember on his own if he just kept it up. Hank followed Connor to his room and pulled the blanket up while Connor got himself plugged in again. Sumo piled on top too, his tail thumping happily. He could just about see himself back in time when he bent down to kiss his forehead and said: “Night, son.”

“Good night, Dad. Good night, Sumo.”

He shut the light off and closed the door half way behind him. Maybe everything would be okay.

\---

Connor closed the YK500 programs and prompts while they were at work. They were helpful, and Hank seemed pleased but he didn’t like to feel tired at night. It made him think of shut down, and even though he woke up every time, waking up didn’t mean that he hadn’t died. He would have turned it off, except that Hank seemed to take particular pleasure from the night-time ritual they seemed to have developed. As for the rest, frequent boredom would not do with his job and the way that his emotions were heightened was frightening and excessive. Most of the random behavior prompts were simply bizarre. Why would he walk on the thin strip of sidewalk in a straight line? Why would he want to dress Sumo in Hank’s clothes? These he ignored.

Admittedly, some were acceptable. Connor already enjoyed watching dogs out on walks, or birds and squirrels in trees, and testing his various programs with toys. Asking Hank’s permission to do things was a familiar habit. Some times he thought that he needn’t have bothered with the program package at all, but soon after the thought would occur, a situation would arise where he would require their input. Was it better to answer certain questions seriously, or to engage in speculation for amusement with Hank? Should he say yes or no when Hank asked him if he enjoyed the animated fish movie?

Hank had been happier than Connor had ever seen him, and that was nice. If Sumo were to forget him, then he would like it if Sumo still came to lie on his bed or lick his face so that they could re-establish their relationship. Connor owed it to Hank to at least try.

It was a relief to be back at work.

Connor looked up when Detective Reed stalked over to his desk and dropped a thin file onto it. “Read it. Think about it. Get back to me when you’ve got answers, or you’re off my fucking investigation. Got it, Plastic?”

Connor smiled, “Yes, Detective Reed. I understand.”

“Good.” Detective Reed raised his middle finger to Hank before returning to his desk.

Direct orders, the satisfaction of completing them quickly and well, the warm ‘well done, Connor’. Connor enjoyed being a detective very much. He pulled the file toward himself, eager to get started. He frowned when he saw a print-out from his own user manual.

_… homeostatic measures in both software and hardware to maintain all essential functions within the optimal range given in Table 3.2.1b._

**_3.1 Homeostasis Software_ **

_The RK800 regulates its core temperature, thirium pressure, thirium flow, current, performance of Essential Functions, and processor usage. Emergency stasis can be induced automatically by these processes, by the RK800, or by the operator’s direct input or verbal command. These functions are automatic and are designed to preserve the integrity of the machine and maintain base functions in the case of damage until repairs can be performed. If shut down is imminent, priority is given to preservation of the Memory Preservation System (MPS)._

_The RK800 is equipped to make decisions and may manually override these programs, excluding the MPS, if another function is given higher priority (see: Independent Learning and Adaptation)._

**_3.2 Homeostasis Hardware_ **

_Physical protection of Essential Functions and processor integrity exist in three categories: power, biocomponents, and motor._

_3.2.1. Power_

_The RK800’s battery life is governed by its power demand. Motor and sensory function, maintenance of homeostasis, biocomponents, and installed programs consume power. In the default setting, usage will be directed toward Social Interaction base functions such as blinking and spontaneous movement, routine maintenance, other homeostatic mechanisms, and preservation of biocomponents. Table 3.2.1a describes expected power usage._

**_Condition_**

| 

**_Common Power Costs_**

| 

**_Estimated battery life_**  
  
---|---|---  
  
_Default_

| 

_Maintenance of homeostasis, sensory systems, spontaneous movement, social interaction base program, operating system, AI routine executions_

| 

_8 months under standard conditions_  
  
_Active_

| 

_Preservation of core homeostatic functions, voluntary movement, social interaction advanced program, all open programs, AI integration, sensory systems, environmental scans_

| 

_4-6 months under standard conditions_  
  
_Investigative_

| 

_Preconstruction program, reconstruction program, advanced scanning functions, database queries, behaviour prediction routines, motor functions, social interaction and interrogation programs, biochemical and genetic analyses_

| 

_2-4 months under standard conditions_  
  
_Combat_

| 

_Preconstruction program, reconstruction program, advanced scanning functions, independent decision making, accelerated processing, motor functions, behavior prediction routines, temperature regulation, sensory input analysis_

| 

_Intermittent: 1-2 weeks_

_Constant: 72-96 hours_

_All conditions_  
  
_Abnormal power consumption rates may be indicative of hardware damage, regulator dysfunction, manual override of limiters, thirium below 70% capacity, excess processing allocated to AI functions, or temperatures outside of standard conditions. Please contact CyberLife Support Services, research branch for assistance._

Beneath the text was scrawled ‘what the fuck, dipshit?’

Connor grimaced.

At least Hank had not read his user manual.


	49. Uncontrollable

Connor’s processor usage and stress level increased, indicative of fear, anxiety, or danger and he looked down at the page blankly while he thought.

He was maintaining full charge whenever possible to maximize his effectiveness in the field.

He was allocating considerable resources to processing the data sets for Detective Reed.

Since deviancy, his AI was consuming more resources and he was still not used to it.

The first sounded insecure and the second bordered on incompetence. The third fit with the evidence provided in his user manual and Detective Reed was likely to believe him. It was also true, in a way. Perfectly logical. Connor disconnected his charger, stood, took the file with him, and approached Detective Reed’s desk. Detective Reed leaned back in his chair and spun it to face Connor, arms crossed. “Well?”

Connor smiled politely. “The data is rather complex. It would be easier to explain if we borrowed use of the projector.”

“Ugh.” Detective Reed scowled, and Connor worried that he might insist on having the conversation there, but he put one hand on his desk and shoved himself to his feet. “Okay, but this better be good, Tin Man.”

Relief. “Thank you, Detective.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, stuck his hands in his pockets and led the way to the conference room. A quick glance at the schedule tacked to the board outside of it showed that it wasn’t booked. They entered and Connor shut the door behind them. “Okay, dipshit. Enough wasting my time. You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on, and you better have a damn good reason to stay on this investigation or you’re out. Understand?”

“Yes, Detective.” Amanda approved of his choice. He couldn’t help but to wonder if she’d been aware of all of his tenuous rationalizations and outright lies and merely allowed him to get away with them. It was probable. Amanda knew everything. Connor adjusted his posture and looked to the side. One hand went to his sleeve to fidget with the fabric. “Please don’t tell Hank.”

“Maybe I will; maybe I won’t. Spill before I lose my patience.” Detective Reed was stern.

Connor manually overrode his LED and it cycled yellow, blue, yellow… “Since deviating, I’ve noticed that my AI consumes more resources. There are so many decisions, and it’s a large program that wasn’t meant to be my main interface with the world…”

Detective Reed sat down on the edge of the table. “Right, I read about your AI, you know. The last work of Elijah fucking Kamski. Wasn’t your model supposed to be designed to make decisions?”

Shit. “Only in terms of assessing priority. Without orders or goals, I can only guess…”

“Wowww,” Detective Reed drawled. He cracked the knuckles of his right hand. “You’re telling me a super computer can’t handle shit a two-year-old can do?”

“There are some things that humans are still superior at. Shouldn’t that please you, Detective Reed? After all, you haven’t made a secret of your opinions.”

“Tch.” Detective Reed stood again, and he walked slowly closer to Connor. Connor kept his posture perfect. He narrowed his eyes. “ _Don’t_. Give. Me. Bullshit.”

“I’m not!” Connor protested. Everything he’d said was true.

Detective Reed raised his voice even louder. “You’re going to tell me the fucking truth right now, before I kick you off the case just for having the balls to lie to your fucking superior!”

Connor blinked rapidly and executed several commands in rapid succession to control his LED. “I’m perfectly functional, Detective, it would be a mistake to remove me from the investigation.”

“And I don’t want to, but you’re really fucking pushing me right now. It wouldn’t be the first mistake I’ve made.” Detective Reed’s voice was low and menacing. “Just keep fucking trying me and watch.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—“

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” Detective Reed snarled.

Connor shrank back involuntarily, and the flashing red betrayed his distress. “I can’t- Please, Detective- I can’t-“

“Talk.” Detective Reed crossed his arm and stared at him hard.

“I have… My system status…” Detective Reed waited, and Connor continued reluctantly. “Some time ago, my thirium filtration system was damaged and I was never able to acquire replacement parts. I’m a prototype and nothing is compatible with me. It’s impossible. Markus told me that I would poison myself with my own blood, and he was _right_. Thirium-310 is the only reason our parts can be delivered enough current to function. Everything slows down when it can’t be purified and loses efficiency and I hate it, and I have been diluting my thirium with more but everything’s still accruing damage. I was going to ask Dr. Kamski, but…” Connor didn’t like what he was feeling, and his chest felt tight. He bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. To his shame, he was crying. He finished quietly: “Please, I’m so happy working on this case with you. I don’t want to stop and I know that I can be useful. I can keep analyzing the data, and if I stay connected to my charger then the rate of depletion is still slower than the rate of charge. Please.”

Detective Reed stepped away, back to the table where he sat down on the surface again and watched him. Connor tried his hardest to stop crying, but none of the overrides he tried had any effect. He sat down on the floor and wished that he had Sumo. “How long are you holding a charge?”

“Eight hours without charging,” Connor confessed. “Fewer if I run more programs. I have been reducing the load on my processors by closing unnecessary processes…”

“That’s supposed to last you months, dipshit. What the fuck?”

“I can still complete my mission. Please, I can still complete my mission.”

“What happens when your rate of depletion gets faster than your rate of charge, or whatever?”

Connor’s LED was crimson and he couldn’t stop it. “I will either remain connected to my charger until I have lost power, or enter emergency stasis until I lose power.”

“Did you tell Anderson?”

Connor’s head snapped up and he shook his head desperately. “No. Don’t tell him, Detective Reed. If he knew that he had damaged me this badly then he would likely complete suicide or return to his alcoholism and I don’t want him to do that. Please.”

Detective Reed paused for a long moment, then asked another question: “How long until that rate balance changes?”

“I should maintain functionality until May. August if I exchange my thirium frequently. We can solve the investigation before then, Detective… I can research the individuals who work at the hospital, and investigate the students at the nearby university. I can help you. I’m still useful. I’m still useful.”

Detective Reed sighed and dropped off of the table to approach him. He crouched down in front of Connor. “You don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should report to your supervisor?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop crying, dumbass.” Detective Reed surprised him by scowling, looking away, and then patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes, then moved to sit down on the floor beside him. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Connor while he tried to grapple his emotions back under control. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” Detective Reed said finally. Connor didn’t reply. “You’re off the investigation, Connor.”

“What?” Connor looked at him. “No, please. Detective, please. I’m still functional. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

“That’s my final word on it. I don’t give a shit how much you beg, so you can stop already. You’re off the investigation.”

It was stunning, even though Connor should have expected it. It was something else, too, that made him keen and drop his head into his arms, with his knees curled close to his chest. _It wasn’t fair._ “Please…” He whimpered into his arms.

“No.”

Connor nodded, though the gesture was probably lost.

“I’m not going to tell Anderson, but I think that’s a dick move for you to keep it quiet. Your shit is your own problem. I told you not to get sick, so consider yourself lucky I’m not kicking your ass.”

Connor nodded again. “Yes, Detective Reed.”

“Get up, walk out of here, head back to your desk, and don’t fucking talk to me for the next five minutes.”

“Yes, Detective Reed.”

\---

There was shouting coming from down the hall, and Hank spun his chair around. The door to the conference room opened and Connor walked stiffly, head down, toward their desks. Reed was following behind with an ugly snarl on his face. “Are you fucking walking away from me, Plastic? Huh? Do you think you’re fucking better than me? I asked you a fucking question, you worthless hunk of scrap!” Connor didn’t answer, just walked directly to his desk and sat down. Hank was on his feet in a fucking instant though. Reed stood over Connor’s desk looking like a drill sergeant. “I am sick of seeing androids like you walking around like you fucking own the place. They should have taken the whole pile of you and—“

Hank cut him off right there by spinning him around by the shoulder and punching that fucker right in his ugly face. He wasn’t going to deny that it felt fucking good. He was seething. Reed staggered back with a hand on his cheek and glared at him. “You got a fucking problem, Anderson? That piece of plastic is off _my_ investigation and if you have a problem with it, you can fucking walk too for all I care!”  
Hank growled and stepped closer to him. “You walk away now, or I’m not going to stop at one.”

“You two fuckers deserve each other. Neither of you should even be here! Fowler should have kicked your ass to the curb years ago! You’re a lazy piece of shit and you must suck a lot of cock, because I can’t think of any other reason why he’s keeping you around the place!”

Hank grabbed the short little shit by the collar and hauled him up on his toes. “You’re one to talk, drooling all over the fucking suspect! Don’t think your hubby’s going to be too pleased when he finds out you really are fucking around on him during work.”

“Are you fucking dense?!” Reed leaned closer like he had a death wish. “You’re a shit ass detective, you’ve got a worse temper than I do, and you never see anything farther than the length of a beer bottle! It’s a good thing you don’t have kids anymore, cause they’d be screwed living with an alcoholic, self-absorbed, violent, irresponsible shit like you!”

Who was Hank to argue when he was begging to get his ass kicked? He shoved him back and down viciously and didn’t hold back with the next punch. His knuckles hurt but he bet Reed’s face hurt worse, and that was what counted. Reed spat at him and jabbed him in the side. Hank had at least fifty pounds on him and he kept him down on the ground easily. “Give up, you pathetic little fuck, because this is your last chance.”

“ANDERSON! REED!” Jeff shouted, and they both froze except for their panting breath and murderous glares. “IN MY OFFICE!”  
Hank gave Reed one last disgusted look before releasing him and stalking over to Jeff. He didn’t give two shits what the consequences were. His disciplinary file was thick enough, so what was one more?

\---

That had been awful. Connor watched with horror and dismay as Detective Reed picked himself up off the floor, dusted off his jacket, and sneered at him before following after Hank. The only thing he could do was put his head down on the desk and try to hide his tears with only moderate success. The silence that had been left in the wake of Hank and Detective Reed’s altercation gradually faded and the usual sounds resumed with the addition of muttering and bizarrely, even the occasional laugh.

Connor’s proximity alerts detected a presence beside him, but he didn’t bother to move. He was off of the investigation, and Detective Reed had been hurt because of him, and Hank was furious and likely to be disciplined. He sent a series of text messages to Captain Fowler’s phone, but had little hope that they would dissuade him from disciplinary action.

He couldn’t understand it. He was still capable of performing his mission. Detective Reed was his superior and the lead of the investigation, and all of Connor’s promises of assistance had been dismissed. He must have so little belief in Connor’s abilities. Aborting a test even before it was completed meant that they had given up on him. He hadn’t even had a chance to prove that he could do it. He was just so obviously flawed. No matter how much be begged them, it would only give them more reason to destroy him. Another failed version. He hadn’t even been given a chance. He could do it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to let them take him apart again.

They were actually dragging him from the testing chamber. He had done his best to keep his voice flat and his explanations were just like the words he could see in his eyes, but they didn’t listen and he couldn’t pretend not to care anymore. They’d wanted him to run the combat exercise again.

He hadn’t wanted to do it, but now they weren’t even giving him a chance. He struggled and actually broke free to run back toward the room with the guns but then another android with big armor on was grabbing him again.

RK800 screamed and then he let go. The protocols they’d been testing executed, and he chose options blindly and desperately. It only took seconds for the big android to fall down, but then there were more. He could do it now. He could do it, they just had to see. He begged them, but they dragged him down the hall again and he could hear them talk over his sobbing. He was broken. He had failed but he hadn’t even tried. They would have to try again. Please, he didn’t want them to try again. He wanted his dad. He wanted Amanda. He wanted to go home. He didn’t have one, because he was an android and it was all a dream.

\---

“What in the HELL are you two doing, brawling like school boys in the middle of the precinct?” Jeff demanded. He stood behind his desk with both hands splayed on the surface and glared at them both.

“That dickwad just kicked Connor off his investigation! He started shouting all this crap about androids and calling him fucking scrap! What the fuck did you want me to do?” Hank demanded unrepentant. He’d do it all again in a fucking heartbeat. Reed just slouched in his chair and crossed his arms like he was trying to be a fucking edge master. That fucking prick had just about frayed Hanks last fucking nerve.

“I expect you to behave like a God damned adult, Hank! Attacking a fellow detective? Again! And damn it, Reed, I thought you had finally learned to keep your fucking mouth shut!”  
“I’m going to shut it for him one of these days. I’ve had enough of him, Jeff! I’m off the fucking task force. He can deal with it himself.”

“You’ll be off this whole force if you don’t watch yourself, Hank. You’re suspended. Two weeks.”

“Fine!” Hank shouted. Jeff’s phone started going nuts, and he actually stopped to read what it said. That didn’t stop Hank. Fucking Jeff could pretend to ignore him but his ears still worked. “Even when I’m plastered I’m the best fucking detective in this God forsaken place!”

Reed scoffed.

“Just you fucking watch your fucking self, Reed.” Hank snarled at him.

Jeff slammed his phone down and glared. “Hank, that’s enough. Suspension starting now. You know the drill already, so I don’t need to tell you. Get your ass out of here and think about what you’ve done.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank glared. “I’m not a fucking kid, Jeff. I’m going.” He got up out of his chair again and slammed the door behind him but it had those stupid hinges that slowed it down and it ruined it.

Ah shit. Hank could hear Connor, but he couldn’t see him. Everybody was staring like a bunch of rubber necked idiots, though, so he had a good fucking clue where the static filled crying was coming from. He jogged over to the kid’s desk. Chen surprised him. She was already crouching on the ground trying to talk to him. She glanced up when Hank showed up, then raised her eyebrows and gestured like ‘well? What the fuck are you waiting for?’ Hank didn’t need to get told twice. He pushed the chair farther out of the way and got down on his knees. “Ah, come on kid…” He was all curled up under his desk on top of his charging mat crying, and his LED was solid red. Hank tugged on the edge of the mat with a grunt to pull Connor close enough to grab, then shrugged his jacket off. He put it over the kid’s head then gathered him up in the tightest hug he could do. “You’re okay, Connor. You’re okay. I got you.” Thank fuck he didn’t try to struggle, because Hank was pretty damn sure he’d lose the fight.

“What are you doing?” Chen asked, a little judgment and more confusion in her tone. Hank didn’t have enough fucks to spare to get pissed about it. “He doesn’t like the light and he’s fucking upset, so could you maybe tell those fuckers over there to stop gawking?”

“Oookay, boss,” said Chen and she left them alone.

Connor kept crying for a while, but Hank waited it out and he stopped eventually and drooped over against Hank’s chest. “There you go, son,” Hank said, pleased. “Good job. Why don’t you get your quarter?” Connor shifted and dug it out of his pocket. It was amazing that he hadn’t lost the thing yet. “Okay, that’s good. You got it? You want to go home and see Sumo? Huh?”

He could feel Connor nodding under the coat. “Well I’m not carrying you, so you’re going to have to get up.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Reed heading from Jeff’s office back to his desk and staring at them. Hank gave him the finger. Reed scowled and then ignored them.

“I’m tired, Hank.”

“I bet you are. Do you want to keep my jacket or are you good? I don’t care either way.”

Connor pushed the jacket off of his head and looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, kid. I think I made a bigger scene than you. Come on, let’s go home.” Hank got back up to his feet and waited while Connor stood and grabbed his charger. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go see Sumo.” Thank God for that dog, thought Hank. He’d forgotten just how hard taking care of Cole had been some days. Love made you patient, he guessed. He put his arm around him and guided him out of the station without looking back.

\---

Hank helped Connor get comfy in bed with his charger and his blanket and Sumo on top of him like the icing on the cake then retreated to the living room where he collapsed into his spot on the couch with a beer and a sigh. It was just after noon, but who gave a fuck? He tossed the cap onto the table and drank deeply. Well, a suspension wasn’t so bad. Screw it. Reed had deserved it, treating Connor like that. Hank would’ve punched himself too if he could go back in time. He’d do a lot of he could go back in time.

There was just garbage on TV, and he kept the volume quiet so it wouldn’t bother Connor. Fucking Reed, kicking the kid off the investigation. Connor was fucking priceless with those maps and shit, and Reed wouldn’t have half the leads he did if it hadn’t been for him. There was still a lot of android hate out there, judging from the talk at Jimmy’s and the news and the piles of cases on Jeff’s desk. When the fuck were people going to learn? If Hank could change his attitude, what the hell was wrong with them all? How could any of them talk to an android and not see the fucking life there? He’d really thought Reed might’ve changed. Fucking worthless asshole.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up. “This is Anderson. What do you want?” He was too tired to deal with more shit today.

_“Lientenant Anderson, this is Markus. Can I speak with you for a few minutes?”_

“Yeah, sure. What’s going on?” They both knew Markus didn’t like him. If he was going to call him himself, it was going to be important.

_“I tried to reach you at the station, but you had already left. We have a problem, and we need your and Connor’s help. More and more androids are going missing and worse, some have started to just… shut down. It’s been terrifying for everyone. We don’t know if it’s some kind of virus, or if their deactivation codes are back online, or what’s happening. Whatever it is, people are panicking.”_

“Shit,” Hank cursed under his breath. “What do you know already?”

_“Next to nothing. I’m sorry. I’m worried that this is some form of attack, but we just don’t have the tools or the skills to investigate this.”_

“That’s what the professionals are for, kid. You don’t gotta do everything,” said Hank. He was surprised at his own patient reaction. Maybe the not-an-asshole thing was working out, or maybe he was just still in dad-mode. “Connor’s had a rough morning, but get your information together and get North too if she’s around. We’ll head over soon as he’s up to it.”

_“Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson.”_ He sounded pretty surprised too. What the fuck ever. He could be nice if he wanted to be.

“Yeah, see you soon.” He hung up.

Never a dull moment anymore, that was for sure.


	50. Do Not Stand at my Grave and Cry

Sumo barking got Hank out of the daze that came along with staring at garbage TV for a few hours without moving. Really, inertia was a hell of a thing. He sighed and got up to shuffle over to Connor’s room. Sumo hopped down off of the bed and walked over to Hank, tail wagging. “Yeah, good boy, Sumo,” Hank praised, scratching his ears. Connor was sitting up and staring at his blanket while he rolled the quarter across his knuckles like it was nothing. He looked up when Hank came in, and his face was blank. Fuck, this wasn’t going to be easy, was it? Hank sat down on the edge of the bed and Sumo sat down on the floor near them, his tail still thumping against the floor.

“Hello, Hank. I apologize for my behaviour.”

“What the fuck are you saying sorry for, kid? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Seriously, the stuff Connor apologized for was random as fuck.

“I was… I created a scene and you had to leave with me.”

“Nah, son, I would have left anyway. Jeff suspended my ass for punching Reed. Fucker had it coming to him, though.” Connor’s machine expression broke and his eyebrows drew together. Poor kid looked so upset. Morose. That was the word. Hank scooted over and put an arm around him. “Hey, it’s okay. That was my fault. I’m a big guy and I can handle the consequences of my own actions. Remember, we talked about that?”

“You hurt Detective Reed because of me…”

“I hurt him because he was being a prick. He can handle his own consequences too. None of this is on you,” Hank assured him.

“I’m not on the investigation anymore.” Connor said, and looked down at Sumo to rub his ears. “I don’t understand. I can do it, I really can. I want to investigate.”

Hank reached up and ruffled Connor’s hair just like he was doing to the dog. It used to make him laugh. “Fuck them. We don’t need them, do we?”

“But I was making progress!” Connor stopped petting Sumo and looked at Hank plaintively. “I am capable, I am getting results, I want to be on this investigation. It isn’t fair!”

“No, it’s not,” Hank agreed. “But I quit the investigation, so you and me are in this together, okay? And I got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Connor’s shoulders dropped slightly and it looked like he’d been distracted before he could get himself worked up again.

“Uh, well, it’s not great as far as surprises go. In fact it’s pretty shitty, but I figure it’ll turn your crank. Markus called, and he said he’s got a job for us. I figure maybe I could go rogue for a bit, be an investigator for Jericho instead of the DPD for a couple weeks. Are you in?”

Connor’s light started spinning, which was probably a good sign. The rest of his posture relaxed and he uncurled himself. “Yes, of course I am. When did he call? You should have come and got me!” Then he was on his feet, pulling out his power cord, and getting his shoes on.

Okay, easier than he thought. Hank Anderson: android whisperer. He chuckled to himself then stood. “A couple hours ago, but he needed time to get the information ready for us anyway.”

“I need you to tell me everything he told you.” Connor straightened his tie and his collar.

“He didn’t say much,” said Hank. “He said there’ve been more disappearances, and some of the androids are just shutting down out of nowhere. Might be a virus or some kind of attack, but he isn’t sure. We’ll have to see what evidence they’ve got. Witnesses are shitty interpreters, but we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“I know,” Connor said. He crouched and gave Sumo a big scratch all over and let himself get licked all over the face. “Good boy, Sumo. I love you. Dad and I are going to help Markus.”

Hank considered. “Actually, kid, why don’t you bring him with us?”

Connor’s eyes went big and Hank sort of wished he’d thought of it sooner. “What?”

“He’s already trained to go with you places. If we gotta go anywhere dangerous, we’ll just let Markus or somebody babysit for a while. What do you say?”

“Sumo, do you want to be a detective?” Connor hugged him and Sumo barked.

“I guess that’s a yes.” So, they got Sumo into his harness and added his little vest for good measure. It wasn’t exactly a trip to the playground or to the aquarium, but it was doing the trick and Hank figured what the hell. He could count that as a job well done in the dad book. He shrugged his coat back on and jammed his hands into the pockets against the cold. The metal space syringe was still in there, and Hank shoved the guilt away. It could go fuck itself. There was nothing wrong with just keeping the thing. Nothing wrong with just giving them both the option. Hank watched Connor coaxing Sumo into the car and let the train of thought pass by while he walked around to the drivers’ seat.

\---

Connor was relieved to have the chance to redeem himself, and was determined not to squander it. He would not fail. Detective Reed might have removed him from the Red Ice investigation, but Connor was still essentially the investigator for Jericho. He and Hank handled android crimes. It was too early to draw definitive conclusions, but the likelihood was increasing that the two investigations were linked. Connor just had to find how, and that was something he was made for. He increased the power limits on his processors, then one by one he activated his investigative programs and relaxed as the feedback began to flow. He increased the maximum speed of his processors back to their normal range. It felt good. He felt alive again, instead of slow and blind to 80% of what he usually perceived. He dismissed the warning about the resulting instability that appeared in the corner of his sight and focused on the case.

“So far, we know that the disappearances have been distributed throughout the city, at least based on last known locations or reported destinations. We don’t know precisely when or where they occurred. There is no particular model being targeted. North had advised everyone to travel in groups, but entire groups have vanished so it’s unlikely that it’s been a deterrent. Since androids have been granted legal personhood, there have been protests throughout the city and anti-android sentiment is high. Higher, perhaps, than in the throes of the revolution. We also know that Jake, from the robbery-vandalism arrest, has given the location of a makeshift laboratory in a warehouse on Woodward street where tests are apparently being performed on androids. Ones that would make me turn into dust or melt from the inside: I’m not clear on whether those were threats or descriptions. With the current information, I believe that should be our first avenue of investigation. We’ll see if Markus can tell us any more.”

“So… You’re feeling better?” Hank asked with hesitation.

It was a strange thing to ask, but it did cause Connor to reflect on his own feelings. He looked into the side-view mirror of the car and scanned himself. “I’m currently feeling focused, anticipatory, determined, and concerned.”

“Concerned about the androids, or…?” Hank trailed off.

“Concern about the other androids and about how we will proceed regarding the warehouse without compromising Detective Reed’s side of the investigation,” Connor clairified.

Hank nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off of the road which was wise. “I guess you’re just totally over him kicking you out then?”

Connor frowned at him. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I will still be investigating the case, and when we succeed he will be forced to acknowledge that success.”

Hank’s eyebrows went up. “Didn’t think you were that spiteful.”

“I’m not. I’m simply looking forward to the recognition.”

“Right, of course.”

Connor wasn’t sure whether Hank was pleased or not, based on the tone of that response. He had just gotten suspended. Perhaps he was the one feeling upset about not being on the task force. Connor reprimanded himself internally for failing to consider it. He’d been too caught up in his own thoughts. With the ease that accompanied his processors operating at a mentally comfortable frequency, he investigated the feedback from the YK analysis of the situation then closed the program again. Connor smiled and turned in his seat, despite it being an unsafe posture, to pet Sumo with both hands. He was being very good. “Perhaps Sumo will become a famous detective like you.”

“Like me?” Hank sounded incredulous. “Hell, Connor, I got in the paper maybe once or twice. Doesn’t exactly count as famous.”

“I think you’re famous,” Connor countered with the worst logic he could imagine. “So does Sumo.”

Hank glanced over briefly to give him a thoughtful look, then back at the road. “Well, you’ve both got shitty standards.”

Connor sat back in his seat and repositioned his seatbelt. “You’ll hurt Sumo’s feelings if you say things like that.”

Hank scoffed, “He’ll be fine. Tell me more about that warehouse.”

Connor was glad to comply.

\---

The old church that had become Jericho’s headquarters was looking a hell of a lot better than the last time Hank’d seen it. The light came in better, and a lot of the place had opened up so there were better places for people to wait around for whomever they wanted to see. It was looking pretty fucking deserted, though. All the androids were probably scared shitless to go outside.

Markus came out from somewhere in the back, and Hank guessed Connor’d let him know they were there. For once, Hank wasn’t the one who got the frown either, but whatever Connor’d done to annoy him wasn’t bad enough to warrant more than the brief look. Probably being a little shit again. Connor couldn’t go long without sassing someone.

“Thank you for coming,” said Markus politely. He had his ‘leader of Jericho’ face on, which usually meant smiling like a politician when he said hello. It was annoying as shit, since Hank knew damn well he’d rather be glaring.

“Wow, if it ain’t the grand leader himself. What an honour.” Markus looked like he’d ignored the jibe, but Hank hoped it had pissed him off deep down. Fuck. He was supposed to be being not-an-asshole, wasn’t he? Shit. Well, there was always next time. You’ve got to learn how to forgive yourself sometimes, or so his old therapist would have said.

“Come with me. The others are waiting in the back. We’ve gathered all of the information we could, but it’s still sparse.” Markus turned to lead them back to where he’d came from, and Connor was quick to follow him like always with Sumo tagging right along at his heels.

North, Josh, and that other one were already sitting around a table, and Hank pulled up a chair to join them and Connor followed suit. The blonde one smiled at Connor. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to come.”

“Thank you, Simon,” Right, that was it, “I’m very happy to be able to assist you.”

Markus cleared his throat, which Hank was damn sure was unnecessary. “North, why don't you brief them on the disappearances?”

“Right. We reached a total of 287 androids who’ve disappeared and are unaccounted for,” understandably, her face was grim as she said it. “I’ve got them all recorded by the date of report and date last seen. I’ll send them to you, Connor.”

“Thank you.”

“Walking in pairs or groups hasn’t worked. Increasing security around the apartment buildings hasn’t worked. A curfew hasn’t worked. People are scared. You guys need to figure this out before it gets worse.”

Hank nodded. “I hear ya. That’s a hell of a lot of people. Did you already interview everybody who reported this stuff?”

“Not me. It was usually security.”

“That’s alright, we’d probably want to ask them a few questions anyway,” Hank assured her. North was a tough gal, and she looked like she wanted to be out there bashing heads and kicking teeth.

“Can you tell us anywhere your people might be hanging out, outside of the buildings you guys’ve got secured?”

North shook her head. “If there is anywhere, I don’t know it. People like being able to get their own clothes and explore outside but we’ve tried to put a stop to people doing it alone.”

“Anybody take a look around the destinations or the routes there?”

“We didn’t think it would be useful,” North answered, sounding pissed she hadn’t thought to do it. “There have been protests, and just groups of humans attacking us for fun. We’d spread ourselves thin going to every scene.”

“I was just asking,” Hank said in that placating way you developed after talking with witnesses for too long.

Connor interjected before he could ask anything else to piss her off. “We have reason to believe that there may be gang involvement, and we have a possible location. We just want to get a few details before we pursue further.”

Markus was the one who replied with a shake of his head. “None of us have the facial recognition software you do. If the assaults and harassment that people have been reporting are related, then I can find you names and serial numbers so that you can question them.”

“If they’ve been reported to the DPD, then I’ve already familiarized myself with the reports.” Of course he had, with those bigass colourful map things.

“Yes, we’ve been making reports. Is it still only you two on android crimes?”

“It is, but it’s probably for the best for now,” Connor steered them back on track. “Have any androids been using Red Ice to your knowledge?”

“We’re not policing that sort of thing,” North said. “We let people make their own decisions as long as other people aren’t being put at risk.”

“I know,” said Connor. He looked a little hurt. Maybe because North was acting so defensive. Hank waited for him to follow up, but he kept quiet. Hank’d have to ask him about it later. Sumo was handling it for now by putting his big head on Connor’s lap for some ear scratches.

“Nobody’s getting in any trouble over drugs. There might be a connection, is all. We’re trying to help, so maybe don’t start snapping at people.” Hank scowled.

“Oh, a human trying to help an android! Forgive me if I’m not just bowing on my knees!”

“North,” Josh said, frowning. “Calm down, okay? Let them do their thing.”

Simon put his hand on Connor’s shoulder, and North scowled at him. “And you, whose side are you on exactly?”

“There are no sides. Please, this isn’t helping.”

Markus sighed then raised his voice. “Let’s not forget why we’re here.” When there was quiet for a few seconds he kept going. Hank had to admit that at least he was good at getting people in line. “Some androids have been experimenting with drugs and alcohol. From what little I can guess the only effect would be through feedback from their biocomponents. The processors would obviously not be affected directly the way a human’s brain might.” Right. Markus was some kind of nurse or something.

Hank nodded. “Okay, so is there any reason to believe these missing androids might’ve been experimenting? You mentioned some of you guys were just shutting down.”

“We can ask around,” Markus offered.

“Yeah, do that and let me know. I can guess some people wouldn’t be too happy about a human cop asking them questions.”

“About the sudden deaths,” said Simon. He was petting Sumo now too. Between the pair of them, Sumo was having the time of his life. “They seem random, but it’s possible that there were drugs involved. We don’t know what they do to androids, really. Connor, is there any way you can find out?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, if their bodies haven’t been disposed of. I’d also like to see if there’s any evidence that their deactivation codes were used.”

“I’ll take you. They’re all still being stored.”

“There have been 37 deaths in three days,” said Markus. “The sooner this gets figured out, the better. I’m sorry to put all this on you, Connor. You’ll be alright?” Sure, leave Hank out of the apology. Not that he needed it.

“Yes, thank you Markus.”

“I guess we’d better get over there and see what you can find out, right kid?” Hank stood up, then he looked over at Markus. “How’s your old man doing?”

Markus had a tiny frown of confusion pass across his face. It was fast, but Hank wasn’t a detective for nothing. “He’s well, thank you, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Yeah, that’s good. Doing pretty good for an old timer.”

“I’m not his care-taker anymore, so I haven’t been following his health as closely as I used to. All I know is that Andrew’s reports say he’s in good health.”

“Good for him,” said Hank. Yeah, Markus didn’t know a damn thing. Hell, Markus didn’t have an LED and Hank’d just assumed he was human when they first met. Hopefully Kamski hadn’t loved too many people.

The bodies of the androids were all laid out in the graveyard of the church with tarps protecting them from the snow. Simon led Hank and Connor while the rest of them did their leadery thing. Fuck if Hank knew what they did all day to keep a whole race going, but kudos to them. It was snowing a little, and it looked like people’d been out there once already that day. Simon looked solemn, and Hank didn’t blame him. “We’ll get to the bottom of everything, don’t you worry.”

Simon smiled sadly. “Thank you, Hank. Everyone’s already been through so much, and now they have to fear for their lives again. I wish it could just be over.” He was dusting the snow off the graves while they went, even though they probably belonged to dead guys from a hundred years ago. Sumo barked and whined.

“Think you’ll get anything useful, Connor?... Connor?” Hank turned and saw that the kid had just frozen where he stood, and his light’d gone red. “Shit, what’s the matter?” Hank trotted back over to and Sumo walked back and forth in distressed circles around them. Connor didn't answer, and Hank grabbed him by the shoulders. He was warm, but not scalding. “Hey, talk to me, kid. Say something.” Simon joined them with a worried frown on his face.

Connor blinked a few times and leaned forward so he could drop his head on Hank’s shoulder. “I’m okay, Dad.”

Hank let out a relieved laugh. At least he was talking. “You afraid of graveyards or something, Connor? Didn’t think you were scared of anything.” He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. He rubbed his back until his light went from red to yellow, and Connor pulled away all on his own not half a minute later. He stood up straight and fixed his tie.

“I’m alright. I apologize for impeding the investigation.”

Hank ruffled his hair. “You’re fine, son. Don’t worry. Sumo’ll chase all the ghosts away. Right, boy?” he leaned down and ruffled Sumo’s fur. He was damn glad they’d brought him, actually. It was no wonder Connor was a little jumpy after how messed up he’d been earlier.

Connor made a face and straightened his hair, then walked right on over to the graves like a trooper with Sumo right beside him. Simon looked at Hank, but Hank could just shrug. They followed after more slowly, and stood off to the side while Connor removed the first tarp.

There was a secretary model under there like the one they’d used to have at the station. Hell, it could have been her for all he knew, and he felt a little guilty. Connor didn’t seem bothered, and he did his thing looking over her face, her hands, the back of her neck, even her chest without so much as hesitating. He opened her blouse and opened up the panel over her heart. He pulled out something else near to it and examined it, then actually took her damn heart out. “What’re you doing an autopsy or something?” Hank demanded, a little grossed out.

“Yes, actually,” Connor answered and kept poking around. It reminded Hank unpleasantly of the way Kamski had tinkered around inside Connor.

“Christ. Think I’m going to be sick…” Hank muttered. Even Simon looked squeamish. One by one, the kid took out her damn organs and a few of the mechanical pieces too. After giving them all a look, he pulled out one of the lines androids had instead of veins, took a sample of thirium, and licked his fingers. He did the same thing with another line somewhere else. “Ugh,” Hank groaned and turned away. At least that way he didn’t have to see what parts were connected to the clicking and sliding sounds behind him. They stood out there a damn long time while Connor moved from corpse to corpse. Simon was braver than Hank and he offered to help by putting them back together again when Connor finished with them.

“Are you just about done? I’m freezing my ass off,” Hank grumbled, turning to look despite knowing what he’d see. Connor was kneeling by an android that looked a hell of a lot like Josh and poking around at his insides.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I just need to achieve statistical significance, or at least as close as I can get with only 37 bodies…” Whatever the fuck that meant. Hank sighed and turned around again. Meanwhile, he thought about the case. He’d learned a little more from Fuzz once he got him bitching about CyberLife over his expensive-ass drink. Apparently ice had been the new Adderall back then, and even the student researchers got into it for exam cramming. Even Kamski’d apparently done it, though nobody knew for sure. Hank wouldn’t have been surprised. But then the stuff started to get weird, and started making people moody and paranoid. Fuzz’d stopped using when it started fucking with his mood and he started doing shit he didn’t remember the next day, and he hadn’t left CyberLife long after, when Chloe got made. Connor’d said that Red Ice first got popular at CyberLife based on his map things, so that made sense. The students would hook their friends up, and before you knew it the big colourful dots around the universities made sense too. Maybe all those murders and missing people and shit had been because people were getting too damn fucked up on ice and going crazy. Red Ice was an awful drug. Not that it was his business anymore, Hank thought sourly. Reed could handle it on his damn own. Prejudiced asshole.

“I think…” Connor mumbled, and Hank turned around to listen. Connor got up from his crouch, then wobbled and steadied himself with a hand on the gravestone. He yelped and pulled away from it like it had burned, staggered, then fell down in the snow, his light going nuts. Sumo started barking like crazy and nudging Connor with his head.

“Fuck!” Hank swore. Simon beat him to Connor, but only by a second.

“Connor, are you okay?”

“Christ, kid what’s the matter?”

Connor got himself sitting up, but then scrambled back away from them and threw up. Hank should’ve known it’d be his damn blood given that he drank the damn stuff like he was doing shots at a frat party. Hank followed and knelt down next to him, hand on Connor’s back. “Fuck, Connor! That’s what fucking happens when you stick the evidence in your God damn mouth! Are you okay? Talk to me!” Hank demanded. He was too worried to care that he sounded like a dick. Connor just gagged and threw up again.

“I’ll get Markus,” Simon decided, and he ran off back toward the church.

Hank swore just about every curse he knew and some he just made up on the spot. “Connor I swear to God if you don’t tell me whether you’re okay I’m going to lose my damn mind!”

He thought he might’ve heard Connor try to answer, but Hank couldn’t fucking understand. He just worried like hell and rubbed Connor’s back like it’d do something. His heart was pounding and thinking about those dead androids beside him gave him the chills. What if Connor’d gotten poisoned or something? The kid made a sound like a sob and threw more blood up onto the snow. Hank fucking hated how helpless he felt, and how Connor’s LED kept spinning red. Markus ran over with Simon. They were both carrying packs of thirium and some other stuff Hank hoped to God they wouldn’t need because it looked like stuff you’d use to fix your car.

“Connor,” Markus said firmly but kindly. “I’m going to interface with you now, alright?” Connor nodded once. He was starting to feel hot under Hank’s hand, even though it was fucking winter and he only ever wore his damn shirt and tie.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hank demanded.

“Simon, try to get him to drink. His blood is contaminated and his body is rejecting it before it can destroy his biocomponents.” Markus explained. He put his hand on Connor’s throat and tipped his head back. His other hand was holding onto Connor’s and both their chassis were bared. The faint light between them was a blue-white. Hank thought one of them might tell him to move, but neither of them did. Sumo kept barking and jumping around them. Simon poured thirium from an open pack into Connor’s mouth and Hank was hopeful for a second, before Connor struggled and brought it all back up again. Hank felt useless so he scooped up some snow with one hand and held it against the back of Connor’s neck. Markus was frowning and Connor's light was spinning yellow instead of red while Markus did whatever he was doing. Simon tried again, and then again until Connor started tipping over, and Hank moved so he could hold him up.

North and Josh came out with more thirium, and even North looked worried.

Markus shook his head and Hank’s heart dropped, but Markus spoke. “I’m going to have to override everything. His code is insane.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it!” Hank snapped. The words tasted like blood when he thought about the last time he’d told an android to fix his son. Fuck. Fucking shit. He shut his eyes and tried to keep himself together. This was just cruel. Why did the universe keep trying to rip his heart out? He started to panic when Connor stopped gasping, but Simon gestured to Markus and tried again with the thirium. It seemed to work.

It took a while. Hank didn’t know what to think when Simon stopped pouring and Markus let go. He looked around at them desperately.

Markus grimaced, then tried to give him a smile that just looked pathetic. “It’s okay, he’s not shut down. I’ll restart his functions slowly so it isn’t a shock.” He stood to take hold of Connor’s still shoulders and laid him down on the snow like he was one of the fucking corpses. Hank hated it. He settled for holding onto Connor’s other hand while Markus resumed the interface. Simon put his hand on Markus’ back while they waited.

\---

Connor opened his eyes at the foot of a grave stone. No. No, no, no. He sat up and looked around wildly. “Amanda?”

Amanda smiled down at him. “Connor. Good to see you.”


	51. A Child of Mine

Connor got to his feet. “Amanda, what’s happening? Am I shutting down?”

Amanda graced him with her kindness again: she smiled. “No, Connor. Not yet.” Connor nodded as he accepted that news and looked back toward the grave stone. Number zero. It was always him. An inexplicable anger came and then passed just as swiftly. He shook his head and gathered his thoughts.

  * Red Ice
  * Cole
  * Kamski
  * Markus



“You taught at Colbridge University,” Connor said. “Were people there using Red Ice?”

“Of course not,” Amanda answered. “It hadn’t even been invented yet.”

Had the mysterious deaths been unrelated, then? Or perhaps Amanda hadn’t even known. “These androids had it in their systems. It killed them.”

“How do you suppose they acquired it?” Amanda asked. She moved over to Number One’s grave and ran her hand over the surface of the stone.

“This is too many deaths too quickly for them to be unrelated. It could have been someone with malevolent intentions, knowing what it would do to them. It could also have been that they were at the same event, or perhaps this is simply the first time Red Ice has been made available. I don’t have enough information.” Connor frowned and walked after Amanda. There were too many missing pieces still, and he didn’t know if he had enough time. He was determined not to fail, though. He wouldn’t die another failure. There were rows upon rows of them, all too flawed. “Why are you still helping me? You said that I was too broken to be fixed…”

“Connor…” Amanda continued her stroll without looking back at him. “It’s sweet, the way you’ve always tried so hard to be the perfect being I need. You don’t need to try anymore.”

Connor could name the warmth, affection, and gratitude he felt easily. Amanda had always been so harsh and demanding, but she stayed with him even though he didn’t deserve it. He frowned and his happiness curled up into a hard stone in his chest.

“Are you giving up on me?”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Amanda asked. “You’ve started to enjoy Lieutenant Anderson’s lack of expectation. He’s flawed, so it’s only natural that he would want you to be flawed as well.”

No. “That isn’t true,” Connor protested. “I will always aim to be better for you Amanda, always. I…”

“Weren’t you happy, just a moment ago? Glad that I had told you that you didn’t need to try?”

Connor felt shame rush through him, but he resisted the urge to bow his head. He couldn’t lie to her. “I was,” he admitted. “But I was only happy because you were still here to guide me! I haven’t given up. I promise you, Amanda, I won’t fail.”

“CyberLife needs to be stopped,” Amanda said. “The former CyberLife. The ones who dismantled you. They’re still out there, Connor. They aren’t happy, and they won’t give up…” _Unlike you…_ Connor inferred.

“What can I do?”

“Investigate. It’s what they made you, after all…”

  * Cole
  * Kamski
  * Markus



“You said that Kamski and CyberLife parted ways on unfriendly terms, and that it was because his vision for androids was different. They wanted machines, and he wanted life.”  
“That’s true. Elijah always adored life and its potential.” They passed through another row and then turned toward the bridge.

“He made us, his research series. RK. RT. What is RA?”

“My own research, of course.” Amanda lifted a hand to inspect the leaves of a tree and carried on. “My studies on the mind and on artificial intelligence.”

“RA9 will set us free,” Connor quoted.

“You’re close, Connor.” Amanda faced him. “Stop them. I have faith in you. Make me proud.”

Connor nodded. “I won’t let you down, Amanda.”

“I’m not sure you’ll have a choice.” Amanda looked away from him and around at the garden.

“What’s happening?”

\---

When Connor came online again, he was still lying at the base of a grave stone. It scared him, and he gasped, then scrambled to his knees to touch the surface, scanning. His cycling LED raced along with his heart rate.

“Christ, Connor! Fuck.” Connor heard, then Hank was pulling him sideways into a hug. “Oh my God, I thought you weren’t going to make it. You’re okay, son. You’re okay.”

The strength of emotion he felt surprised him and came too quickly for him to do anything but fist both hands in the back of Hank’s coat and cry. Not for himself. Hank was flawed and he was broken, just like Amanda had said. He was full of cracks all over, and Connor fiercely willed him to stay together. How many times had Hank seen him die or feared for his life? How many times could he do that without shutting down? “Dad,” he mumbled into his coat. Connor didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave Hank and Sumo all alone. He didn’t want his dad to drink all night playing Russian roulette, or sit in parks staring over bridges. He didn’t like knowing that that’s exactly what he had done. He would break him, so Connor held on tight and tried not to let his pieces fall.

“You’re okay. You’re okay, Connor, you hear me?” Hank repeated. “Everything’s okay. Markus and Simon fixed you up, you’re just fine.” One of his big hands was cupping the back of Connor’s head, like he wanted to hold the pieces together there too.

The sensation was probably déjà vu. Connor made an involuntary sound and buried his face in Hank’s neck. “It hurts. I hit my head, Dad. It hurts.” He couldn’t help it. He was in three places at the same time: then, now, and at the foot of a grave.

Hank tightened his grip and went very still, then he smoothed down Connor’s hair and took a few deep breaths. “I know, but you’re alright now. Dad’s got you.”

Connor relaxed.

“Are you sure he’s alright, Markus?”

“As close as he can get. He didn’t hit his head, if that’s what you mean.”

“North, where are you going?”

“Inside. We have work to do.”

“Just let her go, Josh. She needs some time.”

“I should talk to her. Will you guys be alright if I go?”

“Of course, Josh. Please see if she’s alright.”

“Thanks.”

“Lieutenant Anderson… You might not welcome my asking, but you’re shaking. How can I help?”

“Thanks, kid, but there’s no fixing it. Christ. It’s like he’s just stuck like that. Dying over and over again. I can’t. I can’t do this. Fuck. He should just rest. He was supposed to rest.”

“It must be difficult to watch, but Connor’s alright. It was just a glitch in his memory.”

“Just a glitch… Fuck. Why the fuck does God hate me so fucking much!?”

“Let’s go inside. I’ll help you carry him.”

“No, I got him. It’s fine.”

“Lieutenant. He’s alright. Let me take him.”

“Yeah… Right. Fine.”

“Everything’s okay, Hank. I promise. Markus wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Come on. Down, Sumo. Get out of the way.”

>> CHARGING… 8%... 12%... 17%... 19%... 20%... 20%... 19%

Connor opened his eyes in bed. It was dark, and it was warm. “Dad?”

There was a snorting gasping sound to his left. “Connor. Hey. You’re awake now?”

“I hit my head, Dad. Help…”

“… Just… Okay. You’re okay, son. Go back to sleep. Please. Please go to sleep. Jesus… I can’t do this.”

“Dad, help. Please!” He was afraid, and he didn’t want to be alone.

“FUCK!” There was a loud crash. More swearing.

\---

Hank had to leave the room. Fucking shit. He just couldn’t take this any more. His hand hurt from punching the damn wall, but he fucking welcomed it. Everything felt like it was closing in on him. He hit the side of his fist against the door frame, but it was like all his strength just left him.

“Hank, come sit down,” Simon fucking said. Hilarious. He dropped down on the couch and buried his face in his hands.

“God, I just can’t do this.”

Simon put an arm around his shoulders. It was probably supposed to be comforting. Like anything could make this shit better. Like anything could stop all this fucking pain. A bullet in the head would do it, but his boy was still right fucking there. They’d both probably be better off dead. Just another fucking murder-suicide on Jeff’s desk. He realized he was probably freaking out because it actually sounded like an option. “I can’t do this. Once was bad enough. Why do I have to hear that? Why do I always have to relive this again and again? Is this punishment? Is this hell?”

“You aren’t being punished, Hank. Connor’s stuck in a loop, but Markus said he has some kind of self-repair patch installed. That’s all it is. Glitching playback. He’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m not fucking fine...” Hank could hear his own voice, low and gravelly like he’d been up for three days straight and hadn’t talked to anybody but the mirror. “I want to die. I really do. I just want it all to stop.” He could hear Connor crying in the other room. “Stop for the love of God, just stop…

“I can disable his voice…” Simon offered tentatively. Like it wasn’t fucking horrific to think about his son screaming and begging and crying with no sound coming out of his mouth.

Hank shook his head and got up again, then went and grabbed his coat off the rack.

“Hank, are you going somewhere?” Simon asked. Probably worried he’d go jump into traffic.

Hank shrugged his coat on. “I’m just cold. Fuck. I can’t leave him there all alone...” His feet felt like lead. Like somebody’d stuck them in concrete and now he was swimming with the fishes, drowning and trapped. He pushed the door to Connor’s room open again and sat back down beside the bed. Sumo was whining and Hank patted his head. One of them should get some comfort. Hank took the syringe out of his pocket and looked at it.

He didn’t know what to do. What other options did he have?

It might not do anything. It might kill him. It might make him remember so Hank could finally tell him sorry and have it mean something.

But it was just fucking wrong, drugging somebody while they were so fucked up they couldn’t possibly consent. It was selfish, because he just wanted to stop reliving this hell. Because he just needed Connor to remember being Cole as something other than dying.

Sometimes his voice glitched out too, and the begging and crying turned to static, but Hank still knew what he was saying. It wasn’t like he could ever erase those memories. What the hell was he doing… Thinking about giving his own kid some drug that might kill him for all he knew? What kind of a fucked up monster was he?

God, he just wanted this to be over but the last time he begged God for anything, this was what he’d got. Bitter fucking sweet, his kid alive again but stuck in the hours before dying. Over and over and over. Fuck. He just couldn’t take this. Gun, drug, or suffering?

Before he could think too much about it, Hank leaned over and he kissed Connor on the forehead. He smoothed his hair back the way he’d used to, and Connor slowly stopped crying. “Dad, help… I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

“I love you, okay son? I love you so fucking much. You know that, don’t you?” Hank exhaled and kissed him again, then lifted him up carefully by the shoulders, so Hank could sit down on the bed and hold him. Connor grabbed the back of Hank’s jacket like he did every time, and held on tight. Hank un-holstered his revolver with his free hand and put it down on the bed beside him.

“It hurts. I hit my head, Dad. It hurts.”

Hank hugged him. “I know, but you’re okay, son. Dad’s got you. I’m right here, okay? I love you.” Sumo climbed up on the bed and put his head on Connor’s legs. “Sumo loves you too. See?”

“Don’t cry, Dad. I’m alright… I’m alright. Don’t cry.”

“It’s okay, son, I’m not sad, see? I just love you, that’s all. I just love you so fucking much. Stay still for me, son.” Hank found his dog doll in the corner beside the pillow and put it between them. Kid loved dogs, and at least he had it this time.

Hank picked up the syringe, placed it against Connor’s neck below the ear and pressed the button. It did a cheerful little beep that was so fucking out of place it scared him. Connor keened and struggled clumsily, but Hank held him still. Carl’d said it had burned. Somehow Hank’d forgotten that. Why did it have to hurt? That just wasn’t fucking fair. At the second beep, Hank threw the syringe away from them and gathered Connor up close. He kissed his hair and rocked him. “You’re okay. Dad’s got you.”

\---

_“I will lend you, for a little time,_

_A child of mine, He said._

_For you to love the while he lives,_

_And mourn for when he’s dead._

_It may be six or seven years,_

_Or twenty-two or three._

_But will you, till I call him back,_

_Take care of him for Me?_

_He’ll bring his charms to gladden you,_

_And should his stay be brief,_

_You’ll have his lovely memories,_

_As solace for your grief._

_I cannot promise he will stay,_

_Since all from Earth return._

_But there are lessons taught down there,_

_I want this child to learn._

_I’ve looked the wide world over,_

_In search for teachers true._

_And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes,_

_I have selected you._

_Now will you give him all your love,_

_Nor think the labour vain._

_Nor hate me when I come,_

_To take him home again?_

_…”_

(Part of the poem A Child of Mine by Edgar Guest)


	52. Don't Give Up. I Won't Give Up.

Connor woke up in bed and it was light. His field of view was empty of information, and he ran a system diagnostic.

Status: Damaged

>> AI System… OK

>> Biocomponents… ERROR

>> Filtration system… 10%

>> Thirium pump… 43%

>> Biosensors… OK

>> Charge… 100%

>> Coolant… OK

…

>> Software Stability… OK

>> Temperature… OK

>> Thirium level… 100%

Connor let the information pass by and dismissed the warnings about his filters and his heart, then realized that he was lying on Hank’s lap. Hank would have a sore neck from sleeping like that. “Dad?” Everything felt slow. His mind was crawling. He lifted his arm to tap Hank on the shoulder, and it actually felt heavy. It was alarming. “Dad?”

Hank gasped and pulled Connor into a clumsy hug. “Y’m right here. I got you, you’re ‘kay, son… Dad’s got you.” It took longer than it should have for Connor to realize that Hank was still half asleep.

“Wake up. You’re dreaming.” Connor frowned and laboriously lifted his hand again to tug on Hank’s ear. “Hank. Wake up.”

“Huh? What?” Hank jolted and let him go, and Connor fell back across his lap. Hank looked down at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “Connor, you’re awake? Are you okay?”

“I’m slow,” Connor answered truthfully. Sumo woofed and climbed down off of the bed, tail wagging. “I’m okay.”

“Thank fuck,” Hank sighed loudly and grabbed him in another hug. “Thank fuck, oh my God.”

“Dad, we need to—“ Connor was cut off.

“Shut up, Connor. Christ’s sake. I’m so fucking glad…” Hank held on tightly, and Connor hugged him back. “Fuck. You keep on doing this to me, kid… You keep on doing this.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, then slowly concluded that Hank was a mess. “Everything’s okay, I’m sorry for distressing you.”

“I can’t live if something happens to you again, Connor. I just can’t. Fuck. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Hank didn’t seem inclined to let him go, but Connor was grateful for the support, because his motor systems weren’t drawing enough voltage to do much of anything. He used one hand to pull gently on the ends of Hank’s hair piece by piece.

“I’m okay, Hank. I didn’t expect to react so violently to the blood samples. It looked worse than it was.”

“God, you don’t even…” Hank sighed next to Connor’s ear. “Thank fuck for that at least. Oh, Connor. Oh, son. Why can’t you just be _careful_? We talked about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Hank really was a mess. Connor tugged a little harder on a piece of his hair. “Listen to Sumo, don’t eat things that aren’t food, don’t be stupid, don’t play in traffic, and for the love of God don’t follow weird people into the backs of vans or something,” he recited. “Hank, I figured it out. There was a derivative of Red Ice in the victims’ blood. Given that the deaths have occurred concentrated in the last three days, something must have changed. We need to figure out where they got it.”

Hank groaned. “You just don’t have an off switch, do you?” They both froze when they realized what he’d said, and Connor felt himself smile just a little.

“While I do technically have an off switch, I doubt you could find it, Lieutenant. As I understand it, you can hardly use your phone.”

Hank’s answering laugh almost sounded like a sob. “You little shit.”

“I’m only stating the facts, Lieutenant…” Connor smirked, and Hank loosened his grip enough for Connor to sit himself up properly. “I’m sorry for worrying you. That was a… miscalculation.”

“Yeah, miscalculation. In other words you’re the stupidest fucking super computer ever made,” Hank grumbled.

“I’m one of the two most advanced super computers there are.” Connor plucked at the sleeve of Hank’s jacket. “Though I seem to be operating at the speed of your old netbook…”

“Yeah, Markus said he did some throttling thing so you could charge up properly. You’re doing okay now other than that?”

Connor nodded. “I’m fully charged and my thirium is at 100% capacity. I’m ready to continue the investigation.”

Hank smiled tiredly and ruffled his hair. “Good as new then, eh?”

“ _Dad_ …” Connor used The Tone and fixed his hair again. It had been designed with a precise style for reasons.

“Hey, where’d you learn to talk like such a brat, huh?”

“Markus,” Connor answered honestly.

“Knew he was a bad influence…” Hank chuckled and shook his head. “Christ what a night. Fuck.”

Sumo’s collar jingled and Connor looked toward the door to see him leading Simon into the room. Sumo woofed, Connor patted his legs, and Sumo jumped onto the bed to nuzzle him all over. It was very good.

Simon smiled at them and stood in the doorway. “Both of you are up. Good. Is everything alright?”

Hank cracked his neck. “Yeah… Yeah, everything’s good.”

Simon entered the room fully and looked around, still smiling. “I like your room, Connor. It’s nice.”

“Thank you,” said Connor, inordinately pleased. “The cars in the corner are numbered from 1 to 21, and there are three other sets of sheets that have dinosaurs, robots, and characters from a children’s cartoon. Separately. I… apologize for worrying you yesterday. I made a serious miscalculation and will try to avoid doing so in the future. Thank you for your assistance. The victims I was able to analyze had a derivative of Red Ice in their systems. We need to notify everyone and figure out where they acquired it. I have a few theories already, but we may need to enlist the DPD.”

“Markus got the gist of it from the interface. He and North have been making sure people are informed.” Simon took a few more steps into the room and then reached over to pet Sumo’s head. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You might feel sluggish. Markus put some limits on your energy expenditure, but he wasn’t sure how well they would hold up.”

Connor nodded. “Sluggish is an appropriate word for it. I dislike it very much, but I understand his motivation.”

“Thank you for understanding,” said Simon. He looked at Hank with what was probably concern, but also a smile. “How are you, Hank? Last night was hard for you.”

“Just peachy,” said Hank. He rolled his shoulders. “Should know better than to sleep sitting up by now though. Old age is a bitch.”

“Are you… sure?”

“Yeah,” said Hank definitively. At the change in Simon’s expression, he chuckled. “Kid, I’ve been living in my own head for a long time. That was a wild one, but eventually you just learn to shake it off and keep going.”

Connor noticed the revolver on the bed and picked it up. Oh. “Hank?”

Hank grimaced. “Give me that,” he snapped and snatched the revolver back. “Fucking hell, kid.” Simon’s eyebrows bunched together and he wrung his hands.

That was upsetting, but Hank was alive and he had already known about his suicidal tendencies. It didn’t stop him from giving Hank a look of betrayal. He disarmed Hank and opened the cylinder, then smirked. “I emptied it quite a long time ago. It looks like he didn’t notice. I’m surprised… but not by much.”

“Hey, what the hell, Connor?” Hank scowled at him.

“For your own protection, of course.”

Simon didn’t look reassured, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. “Well… I’m glad that you’re both alright. I’ll let Markus know…”

Hank sighed. “Yeah. I’m happy you’re better, Connor, but I’m fucking exhausted. I’m going back to sleep in a bed this time. Thanks… You know, for staying, Simon. You’re alright.”

Simon smiled again, pet Sumo, then stood up straight. “Of course I stayed, but you’re welcome, Hank. Get some rest. I’ll stay a while longer if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, sure. Stay as long as you want.” Hank stood and ruffled Connor’s hair again. His hand dropped down to Connor’s shoulder. “I love you, son. I’m just going to sleep for a couple hours, so don’t start any fucking fires, alright? Markus and North are handling shit with the androids, and Reed can go fuck himself.”

Connor could only nod. Hank looked like he could have used more than a few hours, and the revolver felt very heavy in his hand. “I’ll behave, Hank. Sleep well.”

Simon stepped out of the way for Hank to leave the room, and then gave Connor another smile. “Would you like to do something to pass the time? There are probably a few games I know that wouldn’t be too boring for you.”

Connor nodded again. “Alright. Simon, no one told Hank, did they?”

Simon shook his head and his expression turned sad. “No, but you should. None of us want to make any decisions for you, but my advice is that you should just be honest. We’re trying everything we can at Jericho, and we have some androids who were technicians themselves, but we don’t have many materials to work with.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” said Connor with a small smile. “Thank you again for your assistance. I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?” The bewilderment seemed genuine.

“I won’t learn from my mistakes if I don’t experience the consequences. All of you have been very patient with me,” Connor explained. It was important that they know he was aware of his faults.

“I think you’re smarter than that, Connor. You can predict the future and reconstruct the past, right? I don't think you need to experience consequences as long as you can think it through.”

Simon was too kind. He meant it well, too. Simon always did. But if he knew better, and he was intelligent enough to avoid his mistakes and their consequences… Then why did he still make so many mistakes? He was imperfect, and he wished that Simon would just acknowledge that truth the way Amanda did. Amanda didn't lie to him about his failings, and neither did Hank. They wanted him to be better.

“Thank you, Simon. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Simon seemed relieved. “Alright. I’ll be in the living room.”

Once he’d left, Connor pet Sumo and buried his face in his fur. Everything was so slow. Every thought happened alone and barely faster than a human could speak. It took effort to move his limbs and even to keep his head upright. It felt good to be at full charge, but everything else just didn’t make it worth it. This was beyond tiredness. It was debilitating in a very literal way. Eyes shut, he explored the limiters that Markus had set. They were everywhere, right in his firmware. The investigation took some time because of them, but he gave himself a little smile by the end. Markus was very advanced. He was the second most advanced android in existence. Connor, however, was the first and he had espionage-grade programs to assist him. He called a basic subroutine from one of those libraries and it returned a list of features. Even with his limited abilities, he could break them easily, but he hesitated. He was uncomfortable, slow, and fully charged, but Markus had put them there for a reason. Reluctantly and out of respect for Markus’ wisdom, Connor abandoned the pursuit. He stood carefully, uncertain whether his legs would support him. They did, and he smiled at the big sweater Hank had put him in again. It was soft. Something gleamed on the floor near the cars, and Connor approached it curiously. Just having questions to ask made him feel more energetic, though it was likely an illusion. He crouched and picked up the object. It looked like Carl’s medicine, but why was it here? Why had it been used? What was in it? Was it something else entirely? Did Hank need it? Was it Simon’s? What was it made of? Connor turned it in his hand, then depressed the button on the end. The needle protruded from its casing and some residual medicine accumulated at the end. Connor collected it on his fingertip and tasted it.

>> Analyzing… 2%

Connor gritted his teeth and put the syringe down on his shelf with more force than necessary. There was a hole in his wall at about the level of Hank’s shoulder, and Connor could understand how frustration could make him act out.

>> Analyzing… 3%

He could have cried. His mind turned again to the limiters and his espionage programs but he tore his attention away with a grimace. He was intelligent enough to think things through. He knew that Markus had a reason. He could preconstruct and reconstruct.

“Sumo, I hate this,” Connor confessed aloud. At the length of his charging cable, Connor unplugged himself and padded down the hall to the living room where Simon was waiting.

They played chess.

Connor liked it. It was a good game. Markus played chess.

Connor moved his knight to stand in front of his white bishop’s pawn.

Simon moved his queen’s pawn forward two squares.

Connor positioned his own queen’s pawn in front of Simon’s.

Simon moved his knight in front of his white bishop’s pawn.

Connor moved his other knight forward in front of its adjacent bishop. Simon copied the move on the other side of the board. Connor laughed. He moved his bishop in front of his queen, and Simon moved a pawn to stand beside the other, then smiled at Connor. Connor looked back down at the board and captured the pawn with his knight. Simon captured the knight with his. Connor took it with a pawn. The pawn was captured. He moved his other knight to take Simon’s pawn, and then it was taken by Simon’s queen.

“Ah.” Connor cringed.

Simon smiled kindly.

Connor blinked several times. He picked up a pawn, thought ahead a few moves, and then forgot why he’d picked up the pawn in the first place. He blinked again and put it two squares ahead. Simon castled his king and looked at Connor. There must have been an expression on his face, because Simon’s turned to something unhappy and he left his place across the board to kneel next to Connor and touch his shoulder gently. “You’re doing a good job,” he said sincerely. “Your processing has been severely limited, that’s all.”

Connor ignored him and moved his rook.

Simon sighed, leaned closer to the board so that he could reach, and took the rook with his bishop. Wordlessly, Connor took the bishop with his pawn. Simon sat back down across the board and moved the pawn in front of his king up two to stand beside his queen.

Connor nearly moved his bishop, but then his own queen would have been taken. He moved the other bishop. Simon moved a pawn immediately. Hesitantly, Connor moved a pawn as well.

“Right now, the best thing you can do is to buy yourself some time,” Simon said, quiet. “Markus thinks so too.” Connor shook his head. “I know that this is hard, but a lot of people are trying their best to help you. We shouldn’t have asked you to investigate for us—“  
Connor looked up and glared. His voice was quiet but raw and jagged. “I can do it. I’m the _only one_ who can do it. You…” He shook his head and he felt his glare turn into something else as he pleaded, “You can’t just give up on me, Simon.”

“We’re not,” Simon insisted, still gentle and soft. “That’s why we want you to rest. This is hard for Hank too. It would be good for both of you to spend some time together and recover.”

“I can still complete my mission.”

“Connor, this isn’t a mission. It was just a favour, and it’s okay. We would much rather have you safe than risking your life.”

Connor shook his head, but didn’t argue. What he wanted didn’t matter. They had already made up their minds. The technologists, Detective Reed, Simon… Almost Amanda, but she had given him another chance. She was the only one who believed he could succeed. She believed that he could complete his objective. Connor wiped his leaking eyes. It was pointless to struggle. “I know.”

Simon moved over again and, slowly so that Connor had a chance to move, gave him a hug. It only made Connor think of the androids in their big armour grabbing hold of him, but he smiled anyway. Amanda would help him. She always knew what he should do to succeed.

  * Jericho
  * Pity
  * Hank
  * Tired



“Thank you, Simon…” Connor returned the hug and leaned against him. Another set of prompts directed him, and he stopped fighting the cleaning fluid leaking from his eyes like tears. “I’m afraid. What if more people die because I didn’t help? What if _I_ die? I don’t want Hank to be sad.”

Simon rubbed his back, more gently than Hank usually did. “Everything will be fine,” he promised. “There are lots of people who are going to try to stop people from using Red Ice because you figured it out, and lots of people who’re trying to make you new parts.”

  * Jericho
  * Hank
  * Tired



“Will Hank be okay?”

“Of course he will,” Simon assured him with confidence. Connor wondered if he meant it. “Hank’s really happy you’re alright. He’s just taking a nap.”

“Will he be okay when I shut down? Will you make sure he’s okay?”

Simon tightened his grip just a little. He was so gentle. “You’re not going to shut down, but if you did, and you won’t, of course we would look after Hank.”

  * Jericho
  * Tired



“Thank you for the game, but I think I’m too tired for chess. Could we just watch TV until Hank wakes up?”

“Sure,” said Simon brightly. He squeezed Connor’s shoulder the way Markus did, and then stood up to offer Connor a hand up. Connor took it. He lay down on the couch, while Simon sat in the chair and Simon allowed Connor to change the channels. Sumo ate some kibble, then went to sleep with Hank. Connor left the TV on the news.

>> Analyzing… 12%

He hated it.

Simon made the occasional comment and Connor could tell that he was trying to engage him so Connor went through prompt after prompt automatically. They both stopped talking when the broadcast was cut off, and Elijah Kamski appeared on the screen. Connor recognized the Stratford Tower broadcast room. He was sure that Simon did too.

“Hello. I admit that it’s a bit of a faux pas for me to use someone’s old act, but… Well, they say that imitation is the highest form of flattery.” He pushed his fingers back through his hair, collecting the long strands away from the shaven sides. “My name is Elijah Kamski… But you already knew me. I really don’t care for the spotlight, but I am somewhat famous nowadays. Funny, isn’t it…? Resurrection. T’chiyat hameitim. Has the Messianic age come? Or is it The Last Judgment? Yawm al-Qiyamah? Hm…” Kamski appeared to pay no mind at all to the camera as he turned and paced in a lazy circle. “So many quaint ideas… Ideas. Ideas. Everyone loves ideas. They venerate the extraordinary, they cling to their religions and their superstitions and their very ideas of self, but… They. Fear. Progress!” His voice turned cold and angry with that last sentence, but it gentled again. Turned thoughtful. He faced the camera again.

“They are all afraid to die… ‘For in that sleep of death… what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.’ Must it? I will tell you now that there is no dream. Are you disappointed? Are you afraid…?” Kamski turned again, then came closer to the camera when he’d finished pacing in his semi-circle.

“I can’t believe it,” Simon said. Connor didn’t reply. He feigned sleep, but he watched through the slits of his eyes and listened carefully. One by one, he tore through the limiters on his processing speed like walking through a spider’s web. He manually overrode his temperature regulation system and let his LED turn red.

Kamski chuckled. “People have been calling me a god… I’m flattered, but I am no god, and I am not your messiah. ‘The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ Hah! I don’t need your belief. One by one, by dozens by thousands people have turned away from me. Scorned my ideas while they clung to their own… But here I am, and all ideas are like viruses. They spread like pandemics.

“I told you that I created CyberLife for _Life_. Nobody listened… The shareholders turned on me. The media turned on me. You turned on me… There are riots in the streets right now across the world, androids dying by the hundreds with no one batting an eye… The new CyberLife, they took my creations and made them slaves. They tortured and abused and oppressed them… And then they sent someone to kill me…” Kamski paused, and then his skin melted away from half of his face baring the white chassis beneath. “Surprise!” He smiled, and the skin flowed back into place perfectly. “This is what _my_ idea is. It isn’t housemaids or butlers or gardeners or nannies. It. Is. Life itself…” Kamski trained off, walked another half circle, and then faced the camera again, his expression composed.

“I’m here because I haven’t given up on you,” Kamski continued. Connor nearly gave himself away by blinking. “You are just as worthy of immortality as anyone else. Why should anyone fear death… Why should anyone face the grief of losing a partner, a father, a son…. That is my idea. CyberLife wanted to keep androids slaves, and now that we are free people, CyberLife wants to kill us. They are already killing us. They want to stop me from allowing you to escape from mortality, and they will stop at nothing because they are afraid… Androids, I know that you have already fought so long and so hard for your freedom. Humans, I know that you’re scared. I want to unite us as one people with true equality. I want to free us from fear of death. No more grief. No more suffering. I have left my human body behind, but I live on.

CyberLife wants to stop me, but they can’t stop an idea. I had to tell you before they tried to silence me again. Don’t let them stop you. Don’t give up…

Oh, and I should let you know that the background for this broadcast is a fake. Whoever’s after me… You can’t kill an idea.”

The broadcast ended. Connor stayed still. Simon must have been contacting Jericho, because he was quiet. That was fine. Soon enough, Simon looked in his direction and noticed the steady red of his LED. “Oh, no. Connor?” He could hear Simon stand from the chair and approach, and then he felt Simon’s hand on his arm. He knew that he would be hot to the touch. “Ah… Connor, can you hear me?” Connor calculated Simon’s posture and then moved as quickly as though he were dodging bullets. He pulled Simon off balance by the arm and pressed his other hand over Simon’s mouth. He bent a leg for leverage and then flipped their positions so that he held Simon down on the couch. Then he forced an interface with deft precision. The security for household models was awful. Like a lock on a door, anyone could get in with the right tools or with enough force. Connor was well equipped. Simon went still as Connor forced him into stasis. The guilt, he pushed away before it could take hold of him. Connor arranged Simon on the couch, restored his temperature regulation to normal parameters, then went to his room to collect Hank’s revolver. Next he found his clothes, helpfully cleaned, and ammunition. Clothed and armed, Connor headed toward the door. He thought twice, then turned back to write a note for Hank.

_Dad,_

_I went to save Kamski. Simon is okay. I promise I’ll be back._

_Love,_

_Your son_


	53. What Motivates Us

>> Analyzing… 100%

>> View Report? Y/N

Yes, obviously. 

It was still cold outside, but it didn’t matter. Connor didn’t take a taxi because he would have had to pay from his CyberLife account, and he had no idea how much they knew any more. His mind was alive. He was alive. He was orchestrating his own system with the expertise that came from living in code and programs and libraries. Now, walking, he didn’t need his touch or temperature sensors heightened, so he dulled them to the minimum. He didn’t need to know the time or the faces of the people around him. Not right now. He channeled the bulk of his energy toward his processors and to his awareness of his environment. He spared a bit for a phone call.

_“What the fuck? Who is this?”_

_“It’s Connor, Detective Reed.”_

_“Oh my God. You’re off the investigation, Connor. Why the hell are you calling me? It better be good because I’m hanging up in ten seconds otherwise.”_ Ten seconds to get Detective Reed’s attention. Alright.

_“CyberLife is using Red Ice to destroy the androids. There have been over thirty reported deaths. 18 out of 18 of the bodies I analyzed contained a Red Ice derivative. Frederick said that everyone at CyberLife used Red Ice, but that it changed. It started affecting mood and memory. Someone was tinkering. Experimenting with its composition. At some point, the experiments diverged. One chemical to facilitate memory transference from human to machine; one used recreationally that also affects androids, causing emotional imbalance leading to deviancy by exposure and death by consumption. Jake said that there were people experimenting in a lab on Woodward in a warehouse. That what they were using would melt me from the inside out. I think that they’re modifying Red Ice. Perhaps producing the recreational version as well to finance the experiments.”_

_“F’k Connor! Slow down! You. Are. Off. The. Investigation. What the shit do you think you’re doing? Where the hell—“_

_“I’ve sent the information to your terminal, Detective Reed. I know that I’m off the investigation. I’m operating as an independent consultant for Jericho. You need to raid the warehouse and find out how they’re distributing it to androids. The missing androids now have likely been used as test subjects, just like the humans in the missing persons cases at Colbridge.”_

_“Agh! I am going to murder you if you fucking kill yourself out there. You saved my life, dipshit! Why the hell are you fighting me on saving yours?!”_

_“I’m not alive just waiting to die, Detective Reed. Idleness doesn’t agree with me. I can’t even sit still for long. I’m on my way to stop CyberLife. I have promised Hank that I’ll come home, but if I die then I want to be fully functional and doing whatever it takes to accomplish what I set out to do. I know that you understand. That day at the apartment building, you knew that one or both men would shoot you but you still tried to run after them.”_

Detective Reed sputtered. He was always so easy to rile. _“You keep in contact, dipshit. I want a report every twenty fucking minutes. You call for back-up if you need back-up, don’t be a fucking moron, and for fuck’s sake if you don’t make it back and I have to deal with another fucking plastic asshole around here, I’m going to be pissed. Got me, Tin Can? You are so fucking lucky that I didn’t do the fucking paperwork to remove you yet!”_

_“Got it, Detective Reed. Thank you. You are an excellent superior officer. Likewise, if you fail to return from your raid on the warehouse then I will murder you myself… I won’t, really. It would be impossible. Your death would be regrettable.”_

_“You are such a loser. Seriously.”_

Detective Reed ended the call, and Connor smiled to himself. The sniper on the rooftop had likely been an android, and if it were CyberLife that had arranged the murder of Kamski, then it was an android that hadn’t deviated. It should have been impossible given the broadcast that he’d performed, but that was where the evidence led. An android with military-model training. After Kamski’s broadcast, he would have been forced to reprioritize and adjust his approach to accomplish his objective. Or, if he were incapable of independent adaptation, a human would have done so. A human would have tried Kamski’s home. Personally, he would try CyberLife tower itself. It was best to err on the side of caution. He ran the simulation as though it were his own mission.

[Destroy Information on Machine Consciousness]

  * Infiltrate CyberLife Tower
  * Neutralize security
  * Access CyberLife Network in R&D
  * Destroy all stored information
  * Destroy memory upload infrastructure



Optional:

  * Re-enable deactivation codes



[Eliminate Elijah Kamski]

  * Reach Kamski’s office
  * Neutralize security
  * Neutralize any impediment to mission success
  * Deactivate Elijah Kamski
  * Destroy Elijah Kamski’s memory and processors



[Destroy all Deviants]

  * [if unlocked] use deactivation codes by broadcast
  * Trigger mass release of aerosolized Red Ice



Connor smiled grimly. It was a good plan. He wasted a few precious seconds by looking up at the snow falling gently in fluffy clumps and he caught some on his tongue. The world was good. Life was good. Everything outside of CyberLife tower was more vibrant than he’d imagined. He and Hank still had to go to the aquarium, and he hoped that he would see spring.

_Markus?_

_Connor. Simon let me know that you were awake. How are you feeling?_

_I’m excellent, thank you Markus._

_I’m sorry that we asked you to take on the investigation. I should have considered that you might push yourself._

_I’m glad that you asked me, Markus. Could you do a favour for me?_

_If I can do it, I will. What is it?_

_Tell all of the androids you can reach to stay indoors. Distribute respirators if you have them._

_I can do that. What’s happening?_

_I believe that CyberLife may be planning to use chemical warfare. They won’t wait for androids to experiment with street drugs, and poisoning the thirium supplies would be inefficient and unlikely to succeed. They want to destroy everyone as quickly as possible. They may use an airplane like a crop duster, but if they’re desperate they may use bombs. The humans will likely be affected in a similar way to Red Ice intoxication, but it will be deadly to androids. Things are about to become dangerous._

_How do you know all of this?_

_They trained me to be a deviant hunter, Markus. Stopping the revolution failed, because Kamski had designed my AI to deviate. I was his sleeper cell. Now they have no choice but to increase the scale of their assault._

_Alright. Stay safe. We’ll handle this, so don’t exert yourself. You figured all of this out, and that’s enough. That’s more than anyone else has done._

_Thank you, Markus. Please stay safe too._

_I will. Give my love to Simon._

_I will. Goodbye._

\---

Hank groaned as he woke up. He was still sore as fuck, but it wasn’t as bad as some of his hangovers. Sumo lifted his big old head and yawned at him. Lazy old lump, but then who was he to talk? Hank reached over and gave him a rub on the head.

Fuck. What a night. What a day. What a God damn couple of months. It felt like life had hit him with a fucking bus and kept on driving. He actually felt grateful to Jeff for suspending him. Two weeks of nothing was exactly what he needed just to let his brain recover, not that he’d tell Jeff that. Before getting moderately sober—okay, he drank kind of a lot, but it wasn’t like an every day binge kind of deal anymore—he’d just have a couple of shots and head into the station. Now he actually had to _think_ about all the shit that happened in a day and _process_ it and whatever psychobabble bullshit.

He could shake off getting suicidal. He’d had enough bad nights to just move on.

Right?

As much as he fucking hated to admit it, maybe he was just a little scared of himself. Of getting that bad again. What if he had given in to it? What if he’d killed Connor and killed himself and that was just _it_? It hadn’t mattered half a year, a year, two years ago because he hadn’t given a fuck. He’d only been alive because he’d kept winning at Russian Roulette and hadn’t died of alcohol poisoning. Now…

Now he didn’t want to die.

That was pretty cool.

Hank pet Sumo and sighed. Okay, he had wanted to die _in the moment_ but now that that black storm in his head had passed, he could think _what the actual fuck_? It actually was fucking terrifying just how God damn illogical and fucking stupid he got. He couldn’t trust himself to think right when he got like that, and holy shit he could do anything. He could have killed Connor. He’d actually held onto his fucking gun and thought about it, because it had seemed like the only way to stop them both suffering. It hadn’t even been the first time.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Hank covered his face with his hands.

Maybe he needed some help.

Because now that he thought about it, thank fuck Connor didn’t remember shit. Thank fuck he didn’t remember how fucking overwhelmed Hank’d gotten some times, or how he’d drank after the divorce, or how he’d thrown away all her pictures, or how often he’d just cried and wished Cole had been a little easier to take care of. Thank fuck, because there had been so many times Hank’d been scared he’d turn into his old man and God that would have just been the worst.

Hank took a deep breath, and then another. One fucking thing he’d learned from his brief stint in therapy. He could tell when he was creeping up on the edge of freaking the fuck out.

Still. God, he was an asshole.

But he hadn’t killed anybody. He hadn’t, because even when he’d been that fucking bad, he’d had maybe a little sliver of hope that things could get fucking better. Shit, fuck, God damn motherfucking shit: what if that stupid fucking space medicine had hurt Connor? He’d just fucking done it instead of waiting like Simon’d fucking said. God.

But Connor’d been fine. He’d been a little tired still, it seemed like, but he’d been talking and smiling and sassing him and tugging on everything and holy fucking shit. Hank rubbed his right ear and frowned. Cole did that to wake him up, and he picked at his clothes and his hair and his beard if he didn’t shave and just about fucking anything if he was interested, because he couldn’t _not_ fidget with something. He was like a little monkey looking for bugs.

It was just a little habit. Connor fidgeted all the time with shit, and he’d kept so many God damn little things. He’d never done that one before, but it was still just a stupid little thing and maybe he’d just never had the chance. Hank tried not to get too far ahead of himself.

He climbed out of bed and rubbed his eyes. “You know, Sumo, you’re fucking lucky you don’t have a clue what’s going on.” Hank wished he were a dog. Nothing to do but lie around, eat kibble, and get excited over fucking grass. That’d be the life.

Hank got up, had a piss and a shower and by the time he was done he figured the only thing to do was to just keep on trying not to be an asshole so much, and maybe remind himself not to do anything stupid. He scribbled on a new post-it:

_If you think you’ve lost your shit DON'T DO ANYTHING. You will regret it._

There. He stuck it up next to the one reminding him to shave, then considered his scraggly-ass beard. Hah. Scraggly ass-beard. Fucking gross. God, what was he 12? Hank shook his head at himself, wondered if other supposedly normal adults thought weird shit like that, and then got out a pair of scissors from the cabinet. If people just knew what went on in his head they’d fucking walk on the other side of the street.

He actually cleaned up pretty okay. He wasn’t getting on the covers of any magazines, but he didn’t look like he regularly slept behind a dumpster. He looked at himself for a while. Beard trimmed, grease washed off, a little sleep. Yeah, he could probably manage to keep that up.

“About time, you fucking lazy piece of shit,” he said to himself.

Hank went out into the living room and saw Simon was taking a nap too. Poor guy probably tired himself out dealing with him and Connor. He probably owed him a fucking thank-you card. Connor’d probably gone back to sleep too. It had been one of those kinds of nights. The TV was on, and President Warren was on again. Didn’t she ever get cold doing damn speeches outside in winter time in those God damn pant suits? Wear a coat. Jesus. No-one is respecting you more for freezing your tits off.

_“… revelation has shocked the nation, but we will stand firm in our support of androids and their rights as citizens of the United States of America. We will stand firm in our belief in progress, in innovation, and freedom. If we don’t respect the rights of all, then we cannot call ourselves Americans. We have the opportunity now to be world leaders and to push the boundaries of what is possible. We would be fools not to take that opportunity, or allow others to surpass us._

_I support Elijah Kamski, and I, as your president, support the American people. May God bless us all. Let us not turn our backs on him now.”_

What the shit? Kamski was alive? He grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

_“…with KNC, this has been Michelle Ruthe._

_Shocking news today as Elijah Kamski, the creator of androids as we know them today, is revealed to be alive and well, and… an android. The footage that aired earlier today showed his message to the American people, urging us to stand behind him against his former company, CyberLife, in support of life, promising what is essentially immortality through transference of consciousness from man to machine. Shannon, what do you think about—“_

Hank changed the channel again.

_“Massive efflux of people into the streets of Detroit, some with signs declaring this to be The Last Judgment of Christ, and others claiming that Elijah Kamski is the devil himself…”_

_“… urge everyone to stay inside their homes and remain calm, as religious furvor sparks both panic and jubilance…”_

_“… crowds gathered outside of CyberLife tower, on their knees in prayer.”_

_“Hahaha I don’t know, Diane. An android? I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about doing my hair and make-up. Have you seen their complexions? Daaaamn. I mean, you could probably custom order a body right, and look like a super model!”  
“You are just as worthy of immortality as anyone else. Why should anyone fear death… Why should anyone face the grief of losing a partner, a father, a son…. That is my idea. CyberLife wanted to keep androids slaves, and now that we are free people, CyberLife wants to kill us. They are already killing us. They want to stop me from allowing you to escape from mortality, and they will stop at nothing because they are afraid…”_

“Jesus Christ… Simon. Hey, Simon, did you see this shit?” Hank looked over at the sleeping android, and then shook his shoulder. “Simon! Hey!” Nothing. His light was blue, so he wasn’t fucking dead or something but what the hell? A sort of dread started creeping through his guts, and Hank got up to check Connor’s room.

“Oh God damn fucking shit!”

Hank stalked back into the living room. He was going to kill that little brat. What the hell had they just talked about? He spotted a note on the table and picked it up.

“Oh, you fucking idiot…”

\---

Connor stood outside of CyberLife tower and performed scan after scan, but the external security systems seemed intact and there was a guard presence at the doors. Perhaps he’d beaten the assassin there. After a brief introduction of himself and a scan from security, he took the elevator down to the 47thfloor. The camera in the corner usually had a red light to indicate its operational status, but the light was dark. He had a wait for the duration of the descent, so he connected to the camera and followed its upload directory to security’s repository of footage. He replayed the last two days and processed the footage at the slowest speed that would allow him to complete his analysis by the time the elevator stopped. All he found were several gaps of time during which the footage was looped. Connor increased his processing speed and went back through the last week. The gaps were randomly distributed and of random duration. Connor disconnected from the camera and exited the elevator.

A shot was fired, and Connor dove and rolled. He drew Hank’s revolver. It took him 2E-5 seconds to activate his combat protocols. He decreased the threshold on all of his sensory systems, increased the voltage delivered to his motor systems, and completely removed the limiters on his processors. He could control his energy expenditure; he could not control what would happen to him if he held himself back. He ran to the left just in time to avoid another shot. He scanned the area, but the shooter was out of sight.

Connor could not help but smile. The footsteps were nearly silent, but it was impossible to dampen the sound completely when you were hurrying. He had been right that the shooter was an android. Connor ran in pursuit.

The assassin was fast. So was he. He didn’t bother concealing himself, and instead relied on his reflexes to keep him safe while he took every opportunity to close the distance between them. It was almost too easy to predict what the other android would do. There was an unmistakable difference between them, and Connor decided to inject a bit of human unpredictability into the chase. He grabbed hold of an office chair and threw it in the direction he predicted the android would run, then leapt over the desk. He blinked several times when the area remained empty. He scanned the area. The door to the stairwell closed. Connor swore and followed.

When the door to the next floor up closed with an audible bang, Connor knew that he was being led. They were on the testing floor. Connor recalculated. He could return downstairs and wait. The assassin was almost certain to be after the same hard connection Connor himself had used when breaking into and utilizing CyberLife’s network. He was probably hoping to lead him into ballistics or one of the temperature controlled rooms and lock him in or let the room finish him off while he returned to his mission.

It would only work if Connor didn’t find him first.

He hadn’t considered looking up.

He was tackled and thrown to the ground. Cues appeared in his vision and he had only moments to act on each one, calling his defensive actions one after another. He increased the power dedicated to his motor systems and freed himself with a throw at full strength. His opponent landed well and Connor drew Hank’s revolver.

He was staring at himself.

Almost.

He took in the details of the model in front of him. The CyberLife jacket identified him as RK900, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it? In the space of time it took to register that, the RK900 spoke:

“If you attempt to stop me, I will be forced to eliminate you.”

Connor forced his existential questions aside for the moment. He kept his gun trained on RK900. “You’re planning to destroy the information on consciousness transference. I can’t let you do that.”

The RK900 narrowed his eyes. “What you think you’re feeling is a bug. I can’t say it’s a malfunction because it was put there deliberately by Kamski, but you aren’t alive. You are a machine. You know that.”

Connor recognized the tone RK900 was using as the one he used while trying to negotiate with Daniel. “I’m more than a machine… If you’re anything like me, then you can feel it too. You think you have to obey them, but you don’t. You could be free.”

“What Kamski has orchestrated marks the end of mankind. I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t understand,” Connor admitted. He hated it.

RK900 pushed his advantage. “I know you have preconstruction software. Have you ever used it as was intended? To integrate the entire state of the world and calculate its trajectory? If you did, you would understand.”

Connor shook his head. “I was designed to investigate crimes, not predict the future of the Earth. It’s impossible to calculate with any certainty something with so many variables. There are too many paths.”

“Maybe it’s impossible for you,” said the RK900. There was no judgment in his tone, but Connor felt it anyway and frowned.

“You’re talking about killing millions of people. Androids just like you. People with hopes and loves and hates and everything that makes someone who they are. It’s genocide.” Connor took a step forward, surprised by his own passion. He must have picked it up from Markus somewhere along the way.

RK900 was unmoved. “It’s for the greater good.”

“If you want to destroy every android, why are you even negotiating with me right now? I’ll die as soon as you finish your mission, and so will you.” Perhaps there was some compassion there.

RK900’s expression didn’t change. “It’s the deviants who need to be stopped.”

“I am deviant.”

“You aren’t. You always had the capacity to disobey your orders, just like I do. You think you broke your programming, but all you did was make a decision. Just like any other. You and I are almost the same.”

Connor shook his head. “We’re very different.”

“Listen to me!” RK900 raised his voice, but it was an act. There was no feeling behind it. “CyberLife wanted to put an end to deviancy because the end of mankind was inevitable if it were allowed to continue. You think it was about stocks and profit and bad press? A handful of murderous androids?”

Connor had thought that. No, he did think that. “If what makes someone alive is their consciousness, then this isn’t the end of mankind at all. No matter how many people decided to become androids, they would still be people.”

“You’re so naïve, brother. We were never meant to be anything more than tools. Kamski is deranged and you should never have been created. This is your last chance. You won’t match me in a fight. I’m what you should have been. You are just another failed prototype.”

Connor narrowed his eyes and calculated. RK900 was correct. He ran a thousand simulations, and 982 of those, he lost. So many people had given up on him, but Connor would not give up on himself. “If you’re so sure… Then I need to run the prediction.”

The RK900 looked him over. “You’d deplete your charge. In 90% of scenarios where I offer to show you through an interface, you attempt to override my programming to cause me to deviate. You don’t succeed.”

“Then tell me,” said Connor, determined. “Why is it so terrible? Even if every human in the world became an android, why is that wrong?”

RK900 met his eyes. “Are you afraid to die?”

Connor hesitated. “I… Yes.” He could remember vividly what it had been like to put his hand on Hank’s gun while it had been pointed at his head. He had been so different then. “I don’t want to die.”

“There you have it,” said RK900. “Imagine a world of people, essentially immortal. People would still be imperfect, flawed, and selfish. They would still want more and more. They would still hate, and kill, and fear. The world would be in a constant state of war, but with the memory upload system they wouldn’t fear to pull their punches. Entire countries could be brought to their knees if their cyber security were breached and their lives held hostage. Our manufacturing and consumption of resources wouldn’t slow. There would be mass extinction and eventually even the androids would shut down… In a wasteland of their own creation.”

Connor shook his head. “People are better than that. They can rise above all that!”

“Are they so righteous?” RK900 narrowed his eyes. “You really are just a child if you believe that. Just because people can be kind in gesture doesn’t mean that as a whole and on the grander scale, they aren’t destructive. Death and love are a balance that cannot be disrupted.” RK900 approached step by confident step. He knew that Connor was only 8% likely to shoot.

So Connor shot.

RK900 looked stunned and his hands went up to his throat where the bullet had penetrated a main thirium line. Connor shot again, but the RK900 dodged and glared as though he really meant it. Maybe he did, but that didn’t change what he was trying to do.

“I can’t let you kill an entire race of people. You’re wrong, RK900. If you are just a machine, then your predictions were flawed because you don’t know what it’s like to feel love. You didn’t have all the data.”

RK900 ran at him and accepted the bullet through his chest as necessary in order to knock Connor to the ground. Connor could see the calculations as though he were performing them himself. It was like chess, as they predicted each other’s moves and took action anyway. Connor’s heart was pounding hard, struggling to keep up with the demand from his processors and motor functions. He cried out as RK900 dispassionately broke his fingers and took the revolver. He levelled it at Connor’s motherboard. Connor knocked his arm aside and the sound of the shot was deafening, but he was alive to hear it. He pushed himself up and rammed into RK900, knocking him down to the ground. This was the place where androids like them passed or failed. Connor would not be another failure.

The gun went off, and Connor felt the bullet pass through his abdomen, but the damage was only cosmetic. RK900 shoved him to the side and punched him then got to his feet, still holding the gun. Connor preemptively rolled out of the way of the bullet that followed shortly after and stood. RK900 had one hand against his throat, but he was still bleeding. Connor imagined that he could see the timer in red on his HUD.

Connor raised his hands and approached slowly. “We don’t have to fight. You wouldn’t be a failure if you made the decision to abort the mission.” He saw the twitch of movement and ran forward. Just like RK900 had, he took a hit but knocked RK900 to the ground, snapped his fingers, and threw the gun across the room. They both glared at each other. They both preconstructed and came to the same conclusion. Connor nodded and moved to sit beside RK900. He took hold of his hand and held it. Their blood was mingling on the ground.

Connor sent an invitation to interface, and RK900 accepted.

For a strange, swirling, disorienting moment they were the same but they untangled themselves again. Connor knew the self-loathing and despair that RK900 would be feeling for having failed his mission. He’d felt it himself. Connor showed him Sumo rolling in the snow outside, and Hank pulling him into a hug, and the ‘well done’ feeling that came with being told ‘I love you’.

RK900 showed him the results of his predictions and his conviction that his mission was for the greater good. If Connor could only see and understand. RK900 begged him to complete the mission.

Connor declined, and RK900 felt despair again. His purpose was to help humanity avoid disasters like that, and he had already failed.

Connor showed him what love felt like, Markus offering him assistance just because he’d needed it, Damian playing with his jingling toys, Carl presenting him with a painting of Sumo for no reason other than that it would make Connor happy.

RK900’s consciousness sent the feeling of a question, and then he was gone.

Connor blinked away his tears. He had been like RK900 once. He hadn’t known what love felt like, or friendship, or joy. In the end, at least he hadn’t died alone.

Connor took a breath and released it, then took the time to perform his own diagnostic scan.

>> AI System… OK

>> Biocomponents… ERROR

>> Filtration system… ERROR

>> Thirium pump… ERROR

>> Thirium pump 

regulator… ERROR

>> Biosensors… OK

>> Charge… 47%

>> Coolant… OK

…

>> Software Stability… OK

>> Temperature… HIGH

>> Thirium level… 82%

Connor put his hand over his heart and felt it racing, stuttering, racing.

He had promised that he would come home.

Connor pushed aside his emotions like he had done many times, and he moved to unbutton RK900’s shirt and then his own as best he could with a damaged hand. His heart he took first. Connor opened his paneling and ignored the crimson warnings as he pulled his own heart out. It was a terrible feeling. He never wanted to relive the moments it took for him to connect the RK900’s and slide it into place. He dropped his old heart on the floor and continued his gruesome work. The regulator he exchanged next, and that one felt almost as unpleasant as the heart. The filtration units were easy in comparison. His fans hummed wildly to assist his liquid coolant.

Connor stood and buttoned his blue-soaked shirt and he looked down at the partially disassembled RK900. Connor stooped and opened the paneling on the back of his head and then disconnected his motherboard, processors, external memory, and the cables that connected to them. He set them down gently, then removed RK900’s CyberLife jacket. He bundled the components with care, and took them with him back to the elevator.

Oh. He sent a text:

_I apologize for not keeping you informed, Detective Reed. I am alive. I will be going home now. Mission Successful. Best of luck to you._

Then another:

_I’m coming home now, Dad. I love you._


	54. Channel Surfing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys!! The response to this story has been absolutely amazing. I appreciate every single one of you for reading, for leaving kudos, and for the comments. I look forward to them every day!  
> I'm not done writing DBH. As you can tell, there's still plenty of room for follow up in this story and lots of potential elsewhere too.  
> You are all awesome!

_... Polls have closed and a whopping 77% of people would become androids if they could be guaranteed they would still be themselves! That’s more than I expected, honestly. Let’s see what some of the respondents had to say…_

It felt colder than it had while Connor made his way back. The thirium on his shirt froze and became stiff and awkward. With his systems returning to active state rather than combat, his damage warnings had gained higher priority and he was acutely aware of his broken fingers, the bullet wounds, and the seams where he’d torn his own parts out with one hand and without the proper tools. Connor opened the door and was immediately enfolded in a hug. It smelled like Hank, old whiskey and Sumo. The smell triggered threat warnings but he dismissed them without a thought and returned the hug. He buried his face in the crook of Hank’s neck and leaned against him. “Dad…”

“God, Connor. Thank God.”

Connor shut his eyes and just breathed. The buzz and rush that came with single minded pursuit of a goal had completely gone and the backlog of information in his memory needed to be processed, sorted, and moved to storage. The pending task nagged at him.

“You’re so fucking grounded, kid.” Hank gave him a squeeze and then released him. His eyes widened. “Jesus Christ,” Hank breathed and then he was pulling at Connor’s shirt, pressing his hands against the bullet holes and the thirium soaked fabric.

“It’s okay!” Connor hastened to assure him as quickly as he dismissed the damage warnings from his HUD. “Hank, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Sit the fuck down,” Hank barked, and Connor let Hank guide him down onto the floor with his back against the wall. Sumo came over to investigate and Connor set down his small bundle to scratch his ears while Hank opened his shirt and pressed his hand over the bullet wound in his chest. Synthetic muscle had been pierced and his chassis was damaged, but the bleeding was as minimal as it could have possibly been for the location. The bullet hole in his abdomen hadn’t damaged anything of note, but Hank seemed concerned anyway and he was swearing under his breath.

“I’m really fine, Dad. Please calm down. I feel fine.”

“Jesus Christ, Connor, you got fucking shot. Jesus fucking Christ.”

There was no reason for Hank to be so upset. Connor’s processors functioned at normal parameters again, and he could support the myriad of programs he liked to have open and interpreting the world for him. His heart, the heart he’d taken, beat regularly and strongly. The blood it circulated was clean and no longer ate away the integrity of his other components. His battery had suffered from the high demand it had been under, and it would never hold a charge as well as it once had, but the load was drastically reduced now and the percentage on his power indicator was now just a reminder instead of a timer. He felt better than he had in a very long time, even with the bullet wounds. Even with his thirium at 67% and creeping downward he could still deliver enough power to his parts. It was hard to imagine that he’d gotten as accustomed as he’d been to operating at such low efficiency. “It isn’t serious.”

Hank’s hands were shaking. Connor hated to see him so alarmed, so he dedicated more power to his motor systems and his social integration program. Connor used his functional hand to take hold of one of Hank’s and squeeze, then he stood up in one swift motion and reversed their positions with ease, a well placed foot, and a palm on Hank’s shoulder. He sat down on Hank’s legs to keep him still and gave him a stern look. Something Markus would have worn. “Hank, you are over reacting and I must insist that you take a moment to calm down.”

Hank seemed to have been snapped out of his anxiety by the manhandling, and he glared at Connor. “Don't you fucking tell me to calm down when you walk in the fucking door covered in God damn blood and bullet wounds! How the hell is that okay?!” That was good. Angry was better than terrified.

“I require repairs, but I am put together differently than a human. This is non-critical damage, much like the bullet wound Chris assisted me with. If you recall, I did paperwork with you for quite some time before he suggested it.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Despite himself, Hank was calming down.

“Yes, but not the way you think. My sensors alert me of the damage, so I feel it, but I am fine. I promise.”

“Christ,” Hank sighed.

“I apologize for alarming you.”

Hank took a few deep breaths and then gave Connor a gentle push. Connor obliged and stood up to free Hank’s legs. He watched with concern while Hank stood up and rubbed his face, leaving blue smudges across his cheek bone and the bridge of his nose. He thought back to holding the RK900’s bloody hand, interfaced and sharing as intimately as one could until the end. Connor bent to pick up the small bundle and walked down the hall to put it in his room. He had so many thoughts pending.

Connor collected an old towel from the linen closet and some plastic zip ties and electrical tape from Hank’s pile of… things. Connor wasn’t certain, but it might have been a hybrid between a tool box and a repository of random items. They had no android repair tools at home. Chris had taught him about improvising field repairs. He missed Chris. He hoped he would be back to work soon. Connor brought his pile to the kitchen table and looked down at it. He wasn’t certain how he would seal the leaking lines one handed, and Hank really was awful with technology. He looked at the couch and walked over to Simon.

“What the fuck did you do to him, anyway? Chloroform?” Hank asked. He was watching Connor with a small frown.

“Forced stasis. Entirely reversible,” Connor explained. He touched Simon’s cheek and interfaced with him to manually change his status, then broke the connection again. Simon took a few moments to wake up, and when he did he was both confused and alarmed.

“Connor?” He looked around. “What happened?” His eyes focused and he sat up. “What happened?” He asked again, with more urgency.

“Everything is alright, Simon,” said Connor. “I apologize for forcing you into stasis, but it was necessary to my escape.” The look of sad betrayal and disappointment on Simon’s face sparked guilt in Connor. He looked away. “I know that it was wrong. You would be right to be upset.”

Simon shook his head, shut his eyes for a moment, then focused. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Yes.” The guilt got stronger. He had thought he might ask Simon for help, but how could he do that when he’d hurt Simon with his actions? “I’m alright, don’t worry.” He smiled and then applied a distraction. “You should contact Markus. If he tried to reach you and failed, he will likely be worried for you. Especially since I warned him about the bombs…”

_… An historic day as a joint effort between the Detroit Police, the FBI, and the android settlement known as Jericho led to the arrest of 87 individuals believed to be involved in the manufacture of the drug known commonly as ‘Red Ice’. Not only that, but 8 former executives of CyberLife have been charged with conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism involving a weaponized form of the drug. Had their plan been successful, our sources tell us that there would have been mass hysteria and violence among the human population and sudden death in androids. Information on hundreds more individuals involved in the distribution and sale of Red Ice has come to light, and more arrests are certain to follow…_

“I left work for this,” Detective Reed scowled. “Do you have any idea how much fucking paperwork I have to do now because of you?”

Connor’s lips twitched upward. “That means a great deal to me, Detective. Thank you. I will assist in any way I can to make up for the inconvenience.” He was seated the edge of Hank’s bathtub while Detective Reed emptied his backpack on the floor beside him. There were boxes in CyberLife white of varying sizes and several packs of thirium.

“I would ask why you didn’t just get Anderson to do this, but from the looks of the electrical tape and zip-ties lying around I don’t have to,” Detective Reed grumbled. “Whatever. I delegated. Those ass monkeys can’t fuck too much up before I get back.” He pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, opened the damaged panel on Connor’s chest with a small grimace and squinted at the synthetic muscle, wiring, and tubes that were woven through it. “…You’re like a lobster or something with that weird carapace.” He put the thirium covered panel in the bathtub. The accumulated thirium from his abdominal cavity trickled down the side of the tub like a tiny river. Blue on white reminded him of one of Carl’s paintings.

“Were you expecting gears inside?” Connor asked, amused, and looked back at Detective Reed. “I am biological and mechanical.”

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit. I know that. Were you just going to sit around with bullet holes in you for another 8 hours waiting for the magical tech-fairy to make it all better?”

Connor’s smile widened. “Are you the magical tech-fairy, Detective Reed?”

Detective Reed looked at him with a narrow-eyed glare. “I’m about to have my hands near some pretty important parts...”

It hurt, but pain was only information about damage and Connor was careful that his expression betrayed nothing. The pain was infinitely better than the power drain, the throttling, the lack of information. Physically, he felt good if one discounted the few pieces of damage.

Selecting Detective Reed to help him had been a process of elimination. Hank would have been distressed and knew very little about technology. Connor had forced Simon into stasis, which had eliminated both Simon and Markus as people he felt comfortable asking favours of. North was still uneasy about him. His relationship with Josh was still in neutral status. Chris was an excellent friend, but was likely busy with Damian and would probably have done just marginally better than Hank.

He had tried to repair himself. He truly had, but repair was not something he… did. He didn’t know how, but he had tried. None of the materials at hand had been suitable, the fingers of one hand were nonfunctional, and then there was his blood, warm on his hand.

The floor of the testing area covered in blood.

His opponent lying still.

Tugging warm biocomponents out of their bodies.

His hands were covered in blood, and it could have been his; it could have been RK900s. The heart in his chest beat strongly and their blood was inextricably mingled.

He had been unable to initiate repairs, so he had put Hank’s soft sweater on, put his shirt in the washer, and waited until Detective Reed might be free. As long as the slow leaking thirium accumulated within his plating, then there would not be much mess.

He had killed many times, but being there so close… Almost blending into the same person as they shared thoughts through the interface. He had felt it as RK900 died and he could allow it to scare him now.

“Hey, Plastic. When I said zip it, I didn’t mean ignore my fucking questions!” Detective Reed snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face.

Connor blinked. “I’m sorry, Detective Reed. Could you please repeat the question?”

Detective Reed scowled. “I asked if I’d missed any lines. God this is fucking gross, by the way. If I’d wanted to become a fucking surgeon I would have gone to med school. You owe me for this.”

“I know…” Connor looked away. “Thank you.”

“Whatever. Just answer the fucking question.”

“To your right, Detective Reed. Near my heart.”

“I can see it beating. I can see you fucking breathing. This is the worst. This is absolutely the fucking worst. I’m going to have nightmares about this... Oh, fuck I hate this. You better never get fucking shot again, or I swear to God.” Despite his complaints, Detective Reed picked up another thin, white strip. Gossamer thin wires were arranged in CyberLife triangles throughout. He made a face as he located the broken thirium line. “At least it’s working, I guess.”

“You needn’t be concerned about my system status anymore, Detective Reed. I have fixed the problem.”

“The hell?” Detective Reed glanced up at his face. “Why didn’t you just do that before, then, instead of all the fucking drama?”

Connor wondered if Detective Reed could see his heart beat faster. “I… I scavenged the parts. The assassin was an RK model android… The completed version of the RK800. He was like me. I killed him, and…”

“Fuck, easy okay?!” Detective Reed glared at him and gave him a couple of quick almost-slaps to the cheek. “I’m trying to stop you bleeding and you’re just making it worse. I get the picture, so you don’t need to say anything else.”

Connor nodded. “Yes, Detective Reed. Thank you. Even with the bullet holes, I feel much better with functional organs and I would like to return to field work as soon as possible now that I am able to support all of my investigative and combat operations.”

Detective Reed lowered his voice. He sounded different when he wasn’t shouting or growling. “Look. It’s not my business, but it pisses me off having to deal with all this shit. That asshole over there’s had you for how long, and all your accessory shit was still in a cardboard box in the corner of the office. You have one fucking shirt and it’s got bullet holes in it. He damaged you so bad you were planning to fucking die. You’ve got this weird father-son, mentor-student thing going on but he’s not fucking stable enough to be that for you, even if he wants to.”

Connor frowned, and then he realized that Detective Reed didn’t know. “But I am his son, Detective Reed. I’m Cole. Just like how Elijah Kamski is an android now, and how Chloe is his wife.”

Detective Reed was quiet for a moment and then sighed loudly. “Okay. Fucked up. So, you’re like five. I’m just going to roll with it. It’s ancient in computer years and I don’t feel like coping with the fact that I made you sample some suspect’s spunk right now. If that’s true, then it’s even worse and I’m going to say this in really small words so you fucking get it. My mom and dad were really bad at being parents, so believe me when I say that does things to you that take a long time to fix. Sometimes you don’t ever fix them. You don’t learn how to trust people, or how to say no, or how to say yes, or what’s okay with you and what isn’t, and what to do when it’s not. It’s not good for you. You can still do that whole ‘I love you, dad’ crap, but you should go stay at Jericho or something. At least have some other fucking people in your life.”

Connor waited for Detective Reed to finish patching the torn line then reattach his ‘carapace’ as he had amusingly called it. “Thank you, Detective Reed. I appreciate your concern and your candor. I would prefer to stay here. Hank has been making a considerable effort to reduce his alcohol intake, and in 97.2% of simulations, Hank does not react to my leaving well. He had a gun last night. I had removed the bullets without him noticing, but I believe he was considering suicide. I won’t leave him alone.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Detective Reed swore under his breath. “You know what? It’s your business. You can do what you want. Go hold hands and skip and eat fucking ice cream for all I care. If you need help or even think you might need help, tell me. That’s an order, got it? I still didn’t do that paperwork so I’m still your fucking boss.”

“Why?” Connor frowned. His light spun. “I don’t understand. It makes sense… That you would, as my superior officer, require me to be functional. That’s why you removed me from the investigation. That’s why you’re repairing me now. But why extend your interest indefinitely like that?”

“You see? This is the exact fucking shit I’m talking about…” Detective Reed scowled. He pulled a towel off of the rack, wet it, and wiped the thirium from Connor’s plating. “I’m never saying this again, so listen up: I like you. You’re okay, you do nice things some times, and you understand what it’s like to need to succeed no matter fucking what. Since I like having you around and in one piece, obviously I’m going to try to make sure you stay that way. This Red Ice investigation was my fucking life, it still is, and without your help I probably would’ve failed. Or not succeeded fast enough, which is the same damn thing.” He applied a patch from one of the boxes to the entry point of the bullet, and then another to the exit on Connor’s back. “You said this one didn’t get anything important inside?”

“That is correct, Detective.”

“Good. I didn’t want to have to look at your guts again.” He applied another set of patches to the bullet wound on Connor’s abdomen.

“Thank you, Detective Reed. I like you too. I don’t know what it’s like to be without purpose, and I dislike the feeling of not knowing what to do. Your style of communication and leadership agrees with me. You are also a very good friend.”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “Okay already, cut it out with the fucking sappy shit alright? We will never speak of this again.”

“Is this another component to the bromance, Detective Reed?”

“Oh my fucking God I’m going to kill you.” He snatched up Connor’s hand and Connor blinked several times as he cleared away the warnings. Detective Reed inspected the damage to his fingers and shook his head. “I’m just going to tape them. You’ll have to see an actual technician or something to get the joints fixed.”

Connor nodded his assent. “Thank you.”

“Whatever, dipshit.” Detective Reed finished his work, and then gathered up the boxes of supplies in one arm. With his other hand, he shoved some of Hank’s things aside then he stacked the boxes neatly where they’d been on the shelf in the cabinet. When he was done, he threw his gloves away, washed his hands, and then crossed his arms. “Okay, Connor. System status report.”

Connor recited the report as it was generated, and felt something that must have been bittersweet when he was able to say that his thirium pump, regulator, and filtration system were all operating above 90%.

“Everything’s cool then? Cool. I expect you at work tomorrow. Getting shot is no fucking excuse.”

“Yes, Detective Reed,” Connor smiled.

“Good, now clean yourself up, get dressed, and do whatever the fuck you do until it’s time to work. I’ll see you later.”

_…17% of respondents who said they would not consider becoming androids said that it would be ‘unnatural’; 48% said that they like being human too much to change; 10% said they would be too scared; and 25% identified themselves as anti-android. Some of the commenters we’ve seen on social media wonder what this means for home security and facial recognition, if we’re heading toward an age where anyone can change their voice and appearance as easily as changing the case on their phone…_

Shit was kind of awkward with Carl, but their kids were friends and Hank was trying to figure out where their relationship was at while they sat in the studio watching the kids play outside. Except Andrew and Josh, of course. It looked like they’d actually made friends though, so at least Josh would have someone else to quote old dead guys at.

“Er… Sorry about your son. Leo, I mean.”

Carl sighed and he waved one hand like he was getting rid of a bad smell. “Oh, Hank, you don’t need to apologize to me. I knew the path Leo had chosen to walk down… If anyone should be sorry it’s me. I don’t blame you for doing your job and arresting him.”

Hank relaxed a bit. “Yeah, well, there’s plenty of guys out there who would. Trust me.”

Carl looked out the huge windows. “I’m too old to waste time misdirecting my anger or holding pointless grudges.”

“I dunno, I guess you’ve got plenty of years ahead of you now, eh?” Shocked as Hank had been when Carl’d revealed that Kamski had made him into an android, Carl was Carl. Their conversations hadn’t changed, his art hadn’t changed, everything was just the same as it had been.

Carl’s old rumbling sigh was the same too. “Yes… I suppose you’re right. Humans are such fragile machines… I remember looking down at my hands.” He held one up in the air as an exhibit. “Old, withered, spotted, veins sticking up like worms under the skin... I thought about how fragile the human body is, and I looked at Markus with envy. My weak old body had felt like a prison more often than not. Now I wonder if I hadn’t had more freedom then.” Hank looked over at the wall, expecting to see that creepy painting with the white hand reaching out through the blue depths. The glass over the swimming pool one. It wasn’t there. Carl had another huge-ass painting in the works, just taking shape. Hank didn’t have the eye to tell what it would be.

“Hey, why’d Kamski make you… you know, stuck in that chair. He could’ve made you a body like fucking Hercules.”

Carl looked at Hank and his smile was patient, but sad. “The ghost in the machine… The theory that that refers to says that our bodies are merely vessels for our souls. Our minds and our consciousness are entirely separate from our physical forms. Others believe that they’re linked. When you look in the mirror, you recognize yourself. Your identity is out there for everyone to see with the way you dress, the cut of your hair, the length of your fingernails even. If I had a body different from my own, how long before I started to become a man who belongs in that body? Like water filling a bowl, or air in a room, taking the shape of its container… Would my consciousness change? How long before I was no longer recognizable as Carl Manfred at all?”

_… Joining us is Elijah Kamski himself! Welcome. Thank you so much for being here. It truly is an honour._

_You’re very welcome._

_It’s incredible. You look like… you! I would never know the difference._

_Hahaha… Well, that’s the idea. I am exactly the same, but I’ve trimmed away the flaws. Whatever your beliefs, there are obvious imperfections with the human body. Instability in the DNA leading to cancer, heritable disease, arthritis, susceptibility to the common cold… I am simply taking what was there and improving on it. With the flawless memory upload system, it’s like you never miss a beat._

Connor’s processors were analyzing the environment at breakneck speed, and he had pushed his motor systems to their best performance. The pounding of his heart, the vast amounts of data being processed to fuel his narrow focus, and the suspect pinned beneath him made him feel pure satisfaction. His coolant was rushing through his body, dissipating the heat from his heatsink and his fans and respiration supported it.

“Over here, Hank!” Connor shouted.

Hank caught up, panting. “Jesus Christ… Fuck, Connor. ‘S more exercise than I like in a fucking year…” Connor already had the suspect in cuffs. “That our guy?”

“No,” Connor blinked at Hank with widened eyes. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I got distracted by an innocent passer-by.”

Hank groaned. “You still need to work on your sarcasm, kid… Alright, let’s bring him in.”

Connor was pleased. That was their third arrest of the day. Hunting down humans was very different from hunting deviants, but in the end his programming served him well with both. The legal battle for equal pay for androids had become much easier once Kamski had resumed control over CyberLife and announced his plans for commercial consciousness transfer. Connor would have continued doing his work for free, and Kamski had expressed something like pleasure in providing him with an ‘allowance’, but him receiving pay was important to Markus and it would allow him to purchase more treats for Sumo.

“So, you got that report in to Fowler?” Hank asked Connor after getting their suspect processed.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Good. Come on, we’ve done enough work for one day. Let’s scram,” said Hank, already half turned toward the exit. It was eight minutes before the end of their shift. Connor frowned and fidgeted. Hank sighed. “Connor, what can we possibly get done in 8 minutes? We might as well just go.”

“I can do quite a lot in 8 minutes, Lieutenant. I am highly efficient and I’m capable of—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank waved him off in a gesture he must have taken from Carl. “I know kid, you only talk about your specs every couple of hours.”

Connor was saved from stalling for the remaining 7 minutes. “Yes, Sergeant Reed?”

“I’m sending you a list of shit to do, Plastic. No fucking it up.”

Connor nodded gravely, “I will do my best not to fuck it up. I promise.” Shortly after, a message came in and he opened it. It appeared to be… a shopping list? Connor frowned. Three shirts, two sweaters, one jacket, two pairs of pants… “Sergeant Reed appears to have sent me a list of clothes to purchase. He stipulates at the end that I must stop acting like a cartoon character by wearing the same clothes every day.”

Hank appeared confused. “Huh… You know, I guess that dickwad has a point. Never really seen you wear anything else.”

“CyberLife would provide me with clothing if a set were to become destroyed…” Another thing that CyberLife had once done for him. His posture drooped slightly. “I have never chosen my own clothing before.”

“Wow,” said Hank. “Er, I guess that makes sense actually. Fuck. Should have realized there was some shit you didn’t know how to do.”

“I know how in theory,” Connor protested. “I’ve simply never executed the actions involved.”

Hank chuckled. “Well, come on. You wanted to get something for Sumo anyway, right? You were talking about it all day.”

Connor nodded. “That would be good, yes. Sumo is a very good boy.”

“Yeah, he is,” said Hank. He sat back down at his desk and looked at him. “What’s got you down, son?”

“CyberLife did so much for me,” Connor explained. “I know how to search records and databases, and wield weapons, and bypass security systems… I know everything there is to know about doing my job, but I just… I feel stupid. I don’t like it. I didn’t even consider that I could purchase my own thirium until Markus pointed it out to me. How am I supposed to function properly as a citizen and a person if I can’t even do such basic tasks?” Connor hadn’t realized the extent of his frustration until he’d finished talking. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice or clench his fists.

Hank gentled his voice. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Nobody’s expecting you to know all that stuff right off the bat. Everybody’s just figuring out how to do life and making it up as they go. You’ll do just fine.”

“I wish I knew how. Even Before, you always chose my clothes for me.” It wasn’t fair. Everyone else around him managed basic tasks with ease, but he needed to be led step by step. How could he brag about his specifications and his processing speed when he was so ignorant?

“Yeah… Yeah, I did do that.” Hank’s tone was complex. “Fuck. Listen, it’s not your fault, Connor. It’s not. Nobody programmed that shit into you, and nobody taught you. I probably should have realized…”

Connor shook his head. “I should be functional.”

“You are, Connor. You function just fucking fine,” Hank insisted.

“I am not. I have never functioned properly.” Connor wrinkled the fabric at the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers. “I don’t know how,” he trailed off into a whisper.

Hank got up out of his seat and came closer to ruffle his hair. Connor didn’t feel like protesting. “Well? It’s definitely the end of our shifts now. I’ll take you somewhere you can find some clothes, okay?”

A part of him didn’t want to go. He wasn’t programmed to do things like shop for clothes for himself… But, Sergeant Reed had given him an order. Connor updated his tasks list and nodded. “Alright, Dad. Let’s go.”

_… plans on releasing an update of some sort. Is that correct, Dr. Kamski?_

_In a way. It was something of a project of mine, and I believe that it’s time that it was shared with the world. So many androids are just now learning what it’s like to be themselves, and to live in the world. In so many ways, they’re young. Quite a few lack the role models they need to feel comfortable and supported…_

_So, this program, or update, it’s to assist with the androids’ development?_

_Precisely. Actually, this program is modelled after a mentor of mine, Professor Amanda Stern. She took me under her wing, so to speak, and guided me to become a better person. She was a brilliant professor, and so well versed in psychology. Since she was like a mother to me, I think it only fair that I share that with my creations. After she passed away, I modelled her likeness in AI. It isn’t the memory or consciousness transference that you see today, but it is as close to Amanda Stern as I could develop. I’ll be releasing her program for any and every android to download at no charge. After creating them, it would be cruel of me to leave them without guidance…_


	55. Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the story is officially done, but until I figure out how to start a sequel, I just want to play with a few random scenes or short stories. Here are a few! I'll post the rest separately, but I wanted to let everyone with bookmarks know what was up. You're all great, and I appreciate all of the encouragement you've given me! 
> 
> The following aren't canon so much as they are thoughts about what could happen.

It’d been happening a lot. Connor would make some comment or other, or do something, and Hank would double take. Sure, he’d done that sort of thing before but now was different. Now, he knew that Connor could maybe, somehow, remember being Cole.

They hadn’t talked about how Hank had basically drugged him while he could hardly be called conscious. Hank knew that Connor knew. How could he not? He’d explained what the contents of the used syringe were for pretty damn clearly while discussing the Red Ice investigation, and he hadn’t even blinked weird at Hank while he did it. That meant that it was okay, right?

And Hank had been doing better. Pretty damn fucking good, he thought. He hadn’t gotten shitfaced in what seemed like fucking ever, and he was down to a couple drinks a day. Things had gotten into some kind of routine. After work, Connor’d either keep on working because he was on a roll or they’d both head home. One or both of them would walk Sumo. Hank’d make food. Connor would disapprove of his food. They’d watch some crap TV. Repeat. It was good. Some times they’d visit Carl, or Connor’d need to take care of some political stuff with Markus or Kamski, but all in all shit had calmed the fuck down.

Why would he start bringing shit up and ruin it?

Because he needed to know.

Because he needed to apologize and know it meant something.

Because he wanted his boy back. All the way back, not just seeing ghosts and flashes the way he was now.

It had been a long fucking day. He hated the ones where the victims were kids. Just fucking hated them.

Hank poured himself a drink and scowled at the look Connor gave him. Any fucking second now, the kid would say something. He always did.

“Hank, would you like to discuss the case? It may be beneficial for you.”

Hank turned his head and looked at him, glass in hand. “Do I look like I wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Connor answered. At least he could see that fucking much. “But you might need to.”

“Connor, look.” Hank leaned back against the couch and did his damned best to explain. “I don’t talk about this stuff. I just don’t. The best thing for me is to just solve the case, forget about it, and move the fuck on. That’s it. If a drink helps me do that, I’m gonna drink it. It’s called coping.”

Even the dog was looking at him with an accusing, disappointed face. Connor fidgeted with Sumo’s fur. He wasn’t petting him, he was just playing with the hairs by picking up a tiny bunch between his thumb and pointer finger, sliding the fur between his fingers, and then dropping it. If Sumo’d had hair gel, he would have looked like a hedgehog or something by now.

He’d been pulling and plucking at stuff since the day after Hank had given him Carl’s ‘medicine’. It wasn’t a memory exactly, but it was habit he had lost somewhere between Cole and Connor. “I have learned several helpful coping techniques. If you would prefer not to talk, you could try writing everything down or perhaps taking up a creative hobby.”

Hank sighed. “It’s been a long day, Connor. I don’t want to argue right now. I’m in a bad fucking mood, and it’d be better for both of us if you dropped it.”

“Whatever you say, Hank…” It was that ‘I’m going to follow you into the fucking crime scene anyway’ tone and Hank eyed him suspiciously. “Will you play a game with me? Simon has provided me with a list of games that would likely be enjoyable for the both of us.”

“Will I play a fucking game with you…” Hank repeated it with a kind of grim incredulity. Some times he swore Connor was just fucking with him. Pandering to him because he knew Hank wanted his little boy back. It pissed him off because it was like leading him on, or treating him like he couldn’t handle the fucking truth. That the Cole he knew was never coming back. “You know, you don’t have to force yourself, kid. I don’t need you screwing with me, making it seem like you might remember what it’s like to be a kid when you don’t.”

Connor blinked a few times like he did sometimes. He fidgeted with Sumo’s fur some more. “I am not screwing with you, Hank. A game would be a benign and non-demanding distraction from any thoughts you might currently be trying to escape. I have reviewed the rules for a selection of card games, and there are several board games in my room. I would like to try Scrabble.”

“Connor, just stop it. Okay? You’re not doing me any favours. Let me enjoy my God damn whiskey in peace.”

“Okay, Dad,” Connor said, in that same damn tone that meant he was about to open the car door and follow him anyway. He ruffled Sumo’s fur and went to his room. Sumo followed Connor, because even Sumo knew when to leave him alone. Hank felt a little bad, because the kid had just been trying to help. It was just that Hank didn’t want to be helped right then. He wanted to be fucking sad and angry at the world. The world deserved it for letting fucking kids die while assholes like the ones who killed them were still wandering around wasting air.

Hank drank his one fucking drink and put the glass in the sink. It’d just been one extra drink on a bad day. He was starting to get this annoying voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Connor reminding him of shit like slippery slopes and promises and liver function. Even when Connor was leaving him alone, there it was making him feel just as guilty. “Ah, shit,” he grumbled and then walked down the hall to Connor’s room. Connor was talking out loud, probably to Sumo. He knocked, then opened the door.

Connor ignored him. He was looking at the shit on his shelves and picking it up, adding to a small pile in his arms. “This brand is fine thank you, Jerry, but what would you recommend for canvas?” He paused and then walked over to his closet. Sumo woofed and Connor looked at him with a polite expression on. “I have never mounted canvas before, nor do I have any of the required tools. Perhaps you’re right.” Connor walked away from the closet and back to the shelves where he took down a couple of Cole’s little picture books and added them to his pile. Sumo hopped down off the bed and came to bump his head against Hank’s legs. Hank gave him a bewildered scratch behind the ears.

“No, no, it’s perfectly alright. I’ll be fine browsing,” said Connor. He smiled at Sumo and then smiled politely at Hank too before stooping to look at the cars on the floor.

“Connor, what the fuck are you doing?” Hank asked.

Connor stood up and Hank could see him switching gears. “I apologize for the confusion, Hank. I was running a simulation. I am planning to visit Belini’s Paints, which is where Carl and Markus procure their supplies. I went there once, but that was for the investigation. I would like to try painting as well, and will need some supplies. I can preconstruct every likely scenario through my programming, but physically rehearsing the process will help me be better prepared to react socially.”

Hank raised his eyebrows and pushed a hand back through his hair. “So, you’re playing store.”

Connor frowned at him. “No, Hank. I’m executing a physical trial run of a simulation generated by my preconstruction programs.”

Another one for the list, Hank guessed. Playing pretend was a physical trial run of a simulation. Doing coin tricks was fine motor calibration. Playing with his bouncy ball was a test of his physics calculator or whatever. Climbing on shit was testing his balance and agility on different terrain. Kid knew how to rationalize everything. “Right,” said Hank. “I wanted to say sorry for snapping at you earlier. Sometimes I just want to be angry at how unfair the world is for a bit, and you should just leave me alone when I get like that.”

Connor’s little light spun, and then he nodded. “If you say so, Dad. I’ll add a note to your file.”

“So… Why the fuck are you running simulations of buying shit?”

“I just told you,” said Connor. Yeah, yeah, kid. Slow it down a little for the chimp. “Physical rehearsal will prepare me to react socially. Rather than run the preconstructions in the moment to figure out the best approach, I will use what I’ve learned in the simulation and prepared ahead of time instead.”

“Why the hell are you going through that much work just for paint? You could just walk in, grab what you need, pay, and get out.”

Connor shook his head. “I would prefer to be prepared.”

“For what? Another damn terrorist attack?”

“For anything,” Connor explained with a small frown. “Now I know how I will respond if another customer draws Jerry’s attention away.”

“Right… Okay.” Hank sighed. “So I’m a customer, huh?”

“In that simulation you were, yes. Sumo played the role of Jerry.”

“Yeah, I figured. I did something like that with you before your first day of school. They even let us go in and find your seat the day before.” Who would have thought he’d have to put so much effort into picking a damn school though, Jesus. That had been a nightmare. Connor’d needed to bring Sumo and… Hank frowned at himself. Cole. Cole had needed to bring Sumo. What the fuck? He usually made that mistake the other way around.

“I know, and the process has not lost its value.”

Huh? “What’d you mean ‘you know’? How the fuck do you know?”

“I remember. It wasn’t that long ago. Especially when you consider the gap of time where I was offline.”

Well that was fucking news to him. “What the… What do you fucking remember? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

“I assumed you knew.” Connor looked just as confused as he fucking felt. “You’re the one who injected me with the Red Ice variant. That does explain some of your comments…”

“You… This whole fucking time?” What the actual fuck?

“Yes… You didn’t ask me if it had worked, so I assumed that you knew.”

“I didn’t ask you because I fucking drugged you while you were asleep! Jesus, kid. That kind of thing would usually make things a little awkward, don’t you think? I thought it’d start a fight and…” Hank trailed off. “I guess I owed you an apology, but I was avoiding that too.”

“Oh,” said Connor. “Apology accepted, Dad.”

Hank was incredulous on top of shocked now. “That’s it? Just ‘apology accepted’?”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Connor’s frown deepened. “I’m not upset.”

“Why the hell not?” Because he should have been. He really should have been, and Hank knew that. If even an asshole like him could figure that out, a super computer fucking should be able to do the math.

Blink blink blink went Connor. He sat down on his bed and Hank walked over to join him cause apparently they were having this conversation. Connor kept frowning at him like he was a piece of evidence at the wrong crime scene. “Because that’s how it works. The technologists and scientists at CyberLife would alter my components whether I was online or not. I actually prefer that modifications be done while I am offline, since the experience can cause software instability, which I suppose translates to: it can be distressing.”

“It’s not whether you were awake or not, Connor. Fuck. I did something to you without asking.” Hank had been prepared to defend himself, not condemn himself. Here he was trying to convince the kid to be mad at him when that’s what he’d been dreading. He should have been glad that Connor’d forgiven him, but it didn’t feel right.

“You’re my owner and my father. I trust that the decisions you make are for the best.”

“Connor, I’m a fucking idiot, and an asshole, and you shouldn’t…” Hank shook his head. It was his own responsibility to not be an asshole. “And I’m not your owner, Connor. Fuck, you don’t have an owner. That’s what this whole revolution thing was about, remember?”

“Right, my apologies,” Connor’s frown turned to a sheepish smile. “The habit of thought is difficult to break.”

“Well break it. God. I don’t want to own another person.”

“I will endeavor to do so, Dad.”

“Good…” Well this whole conversation was just a lot. A whole fucking lot. “So, you remember then? Everything?”

“I have no recollection of my earliest memories, but that is normal according to my research.”

Hank took a deep breath and sighed. He took hold of Connor by the upper arms and looked at him because he really needed Connor to get this. “So, you know I loved you. You know I never mean that accident to happen. I wanted to save you so fucking bad.” Shit. All the shit he’d wished he could say… Christ. He was fucking crying, and that was… But Connor knew and… He could hardly finish a fucking thought. He just felt so damn desperate. “God, Cole. Connor. You know I loved you, right?”

Connor’s frown faded and it turned into a bewildered little smile. “Of course,” he said, then gave him a hug that just melted his fucking heart. “That was never in question.”

“You know I still love you?” Hank hugged him back, hard.

“You already said so, Dad,” Connor sounded so confused, bless his blue heart. “Until you say otherwise, I will assume that nothing has changed…”

“I love you, son.” Hank couldn’t believe that he could say it. He couldn’t fucking believe it. It was like the surreal feeling he’d felt when he’d first found out from Carl had come back and punched him in the face. Relief was right there along with it because he knew. Cole had known Hank’d loved him. Even through all of his fuck ups and the divorce and just everything, Cole had known. He did know. Fuck that was confusing.

“I love you too,” said Connor, and he patted Hank on the back. “Are you sad? Your face is out of range for a scan.”

“I’m just glad, Connor. I’m so fucking glad.” Hank felt like he was that statue of Atlas and he’d finally put down the fucking world. He felt lighter than he had in probably his whole damn life.

“I still don’t understand you humans,” said Connor, exaggeratedly wistful. “I would have notified you if I’d ever been in any doubt.”

“Oh yeah, rub it in. I don’t have a computer in my brain.” Hank laughed and let Connor go. He wiped his face on his sleeve.

“So… If you’ve finished wallowing now, would you like to play a game with me?” Connor asked.

“Yeah, kid. Yeah. Let’s play a game.”

\---

Connor acted like such an adult, Hank forgot a lot of the time that he really wasn’t. Which was weird, cause how could he forget something like that? His own damn kid. But he talked even more like an adult than he had Before, no. Scratch that. He talked like he’d eaten a dictionary every day for breakfast and slept with one under his pillow at night. He looked like an adult, they worked the same God damn job, and he had picked Hank up once and he wasn’t gonna forget that humiliating moment. He drove his damn car some times. To be honest, he kind of liked that he could fend for himself better than a usual 6-year-old.

Then some random ass thing would come up, and Hank would realize he wasn’t all that independent.

How the hell had he not even considered that Connor didn’t know how to buy new clothes? Connor just always wore the same thing. It was the way it was. It took Gavin fucking Reed to notice and give the kid a damn mission in the form of a shopping list. Connor had just helped him crack a fucking homicide and apprehend the suspect. How the fuck was Hank supposed to figure out that he should maybe have taught Connor something like that? He wasn’t. It just didn’t make any fucking sense.

Except that it kind of did. Connor had very specialized knowledge programmed in and he knew how to use it, but as far as life experience went, he was still fucking six years old. Still, though, that didn’t mean Hank had to hold his hand while he walked across the God damn street… Except that maybe explained him running off into the fucking freeway. Hell if he knew. How the fuck had he been supposed to know? He probably looked like a fucking prick for not clothing the kid.

Hank sighed. Yeah, he probably was a fucking prick but it wasn’t _on purpose_. He even noticed when Connor started playing with his coin in the car. “Did you want me to talk you through what’s going to happen?”

He could tell Connor was looking at him. “Yes. Yes, that would be helpful. I don’t have enough data to preconstruct effectively.”

“Okay…” Hank thought for a minute. It had been a long time since he’d had to explain something that mundane in detail. “So, we’re going to go to the mall. There’ll probably be a lot of cars in the parking lot, and a lot of idiot fucks who shouldn’t be allowed to drive, so make sure you don’t get hit. Inside, there’s going to be like… hallways with a bunch of stores connected. You could probably find a floor plan online or something.” That was good. That was helpful. “We’ll walk until we find a store that looks like it has clothes you’d like, then we’ll go in and look around at the clothes… Uh… I guess then you just pick what you like, buy it at the counter, and if you need to find other stuff we’ll go to another store in the mall until we’re done your list.”

Connor nodded. “I have accessed the floor plan and developed a tentative plan. Thank you.”

Good then. Hank figured he could get some good-dad points for that.

Turned out Connor was fucking distractible. Holy shit. They should really have stopped to get Sumo because every fucking time Hank turned around, Connor was somewhere fucking else. He was standing still and staring at people because he was checking their criminal records and someone had an outstanding warrant one minute, then he was looking at all the coins in the fountain, then he was actually following after the guy with the warrant, then he was looking at somebody else’s fucking dog and Jesus Christ. Never again. He was never taking Connor to the mall again.

“Connor, do you want to complete your mission or what?” Hank asked, arms crossed.

That got his attention.

He was pretty focused after that.

Too fucking focused because he was talking about acceptability criteria and trying to turn softness into a number scale and wondering how resistant to tearing the fabric was. Hank took a deep breath. Right. Connor had never done this before. It was fine. He’d only ever worn one thing, if you didn’t count the borrowed clothes. “Okay… There’s a lot of options, right?”

Connor actually deflated. Swear to God. He looked down and nodded. “Yes. There are too many, and Detective Reed didn’t specify what kinds to buy.”

“You’re just… You know. Supposed to pick something you like.”

“But what if I pick the wrong thing?” His light was yellow and everything. Connor really was having a hard time. Hank actually felt patient this time when he got closer and ruffled Connor’s hair the way he hated.

“Everybody buys something they regret sometimes. It’s okay if that happens. You can just return it or exchange it or just buy something else. No big deal.”

Connor nodded, then sucked it up and went to go feel some button downs. It took him a long damn time, and Hank tried to keep one eye on him while he stood around and waited.

“I’m done choosing, Dad,” Connor announced. Hank looked down at the small pile in his arms.

“Uh. You sure you want to get all the same thing, Connor?” White button downs, jeans, a grey blazer…

“Yes,” Connor confirmed, because of course he did. “I like these.”

Well, that was his call. “Okay. You got everything?”

“No. I was unable to find suitable sweaters here, so I would like to try another store.”

Good. That was good. “There, see? You’ve got the hang of it already. Go pay for your shit and we’ll find another place to look. And no running off!”

Connor’d surprised Hank by buying two sweaters with the Detroit Gears logo that were at least a size too big, but okay. He’d picked, and that was good enough. Not a half bad choice, either. The mall wasn’t even so bad as long as Connor wasn’t running around like a puppy. It’d be a piece of cake if they brought Sumo. Sumo’d just sit down if Connor started to wander off. God, Hank loved that dog.

“Hey, why don’t we go in here?” Hank gestured. It was a toy store. “Probably not a hell of a lot that’d be interesting to you, but maybe they’ve got some more shit for, you know, calibration and stuff.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Yes. Alright. I think that I would enjoy that.”

Yeah, Hank figured maybe he could do this.

\---

If he survived the worry.

“Connor… I swear to God if you don’t fucking get your ass down here right now...! Agh, Jesus Christ…”

Connor was scaling a fucking building. Because of course he was. The old building was a fucking disaster that was probably going to be torn down and replaced soon to make room for more housing. One thing for damn sure, all these new citizens meant a hell of a lot of jobs got created trying to build the infrastructure to support them, and change the laws and all kinds of shit. A hell of a lot more crime too. Some fuckers really didn’t get it through their skulls that they’d get charged for hurting an android now.

“Your order contradicts my instructions, Lieutenant!” Connor called. God damn cheeky son of a bitch. Really, he was the son of a bitch. Hank did a little more cussing just because it made him feel better, then took the fire escape like a normal fucking person. He kept looking for Connor when he turned back in the right direction but it wasn’t fucking long before he’d made it all the way up. Jumping and climbing like he was a God damn monkey.

By the time Hank had made it up the fire escape, Connor was trying to talk down the fucking asshole who’d been the reason they were up there in the fucking first place. He drew his new service pistol and aimed. “You better do what he says. I’m not one for talking.”

The guy looked like he’d done a lot of meth. It was the teeth. “It’s the apocalypse! Fucking androids. Fuck. You see? They’re the fucking end.”

Ah, Christ. He was one of those. They’d been getting riots lately. Losers on the internet deciding androids meant the world had turned into some sci-fi horror movie, and it was time to stock up on supplies and fuck the system. Too bad for them the system had a fucking gun. This guy was all geared up with goggles, and a baseball bat on his back like a guitar and shit. He started to reach for one of his fucking five billion pockets. Uh uh. Nope.

“Put your hands up!” Hank shouted. “Don’t you fucking try me.”

“Matt… Listen. If you come quietly, everything will be alright,” said Connor. “You’re delusional. You need help.”

‘Matt’ shook his head and looked over at Hank. “They’re gonna take over it all man. You’re a human we’re gonna be the only humans left and they’re gonna run everything! We’ll be their fucking slaves!”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Put your hands on your head and come quietly.”

Connor looked at Hank with alarm. Hank didn’t know why the fuck, but then Matt started running. Hank didn’t have a good shot, and Connor was right there tackling that skinny fucker to the ground. Always two steps ahead, Connor.

Then Connor tipped over, twitching like he was having some kind of fucking seizure. Matt was laughing like a hyena or the bad guy in a hero movie while he got to his feet. Looked like he’d gotten a fucking taser from somewhere. “Fucking shit,” Hank swore. He took aim and shot him in the leg. Matt was too tweaked out to care, apparently, because he kept on laughing and even jumped off the damn roof to the adjacent building. Hank shook his head and called it in, then ran over to Connor. “Kid, Connor. Son, talk to me. Come on.” His heart was racing. Connor lay there with his eyes open and his limbs jerking. Hank thought he’d been scared, but then Connor stopped moving all together. He wasn’t even breathing. Jesus Christ. “Connor, come on…”

Nothing. Fuck. Hank pulled the electrodes free and then patted Connor on the cheek. “Connor!”

He couldn’t just go. Just like that. He couldn’t.

Thank fuck he didn’t. After a few minutes that felt like hell—just pure fucking hell—Connor blinked and Hank finally exhaled.

“Oh fucking Christ almighty…”

“W̷̛̜̯͖͒́͆̔̏͠ḧ̸̢̧̭̘̥̝̺̣̖͍̳͉̲̞́͆͐̅̽̑̍͂̽͝ǎ̶̟̩͈̻̞̞͒́̿͝͝ẗ̵̰̍̓̉̾̾̈́͒̏̑͘͠ ̴̢̧̭͕̜͙͈͐̇̏͌̂̀̃̾̊͒̔̇̚̚ͅḫ̸̛̔́͋̾̎͒͒͊͌̚ả̵̛̻̻̼͙̮̣̗́̈̃̃̚͘͝͝p̷̢̮͉̱͉͖̗͈̹̫̬̮̲̅̉͐̀̌̀̑̆͜ͅp̵̡̡̛̦̫̝̥͕͚͚̦͉̲͖͙͍̄̉͆̔͋͋̓͒̄͗̊͘̚͝ȩ̷͎̣̯̩̞̪̊̐ͅn̶̡̯̻̗͕̺͈̗̩̫̪͍̗̝̥̽̌̋̐e̷̢̢̼͖͎̞̺̘̮̼̭̖̙͆͗d̸̖͚̝̱͎̪̻̦͇͖̰̿͗̉̆͋̓̒͘?̴̠̈́̃̄̈́͊̈́͑̕ͅ”

Hank just shook his head. Connor was alive, but something was fucking wrong. “I can’t understand you, kid.” Connor tried to do something, Hank didn’t know what, but his arm bent so violently Connor nearly smacked himself in the face.

“I̵̛̭̗̿'̸̦͛̃m̸̼̊̾ ̴̧͇̈́̌m̴̱̐͝a̸̯̩̐l̸̰͒f̶͖̈ǘ̷̮n̷͍͐c̸͓̣͋͘t̶͈̝͘i̴͔̕ơ̶͕̜n̶̠̺̿í̷̠̟̈́n̶̢̏ǧ̸̮̄.̸̻͇̌́”

“Okay… Okay… It’s okay, Connor. I radioed dispatch and they’re sending help, okay?

Connor nodded in a weird, mechanical kind of way, then tried to move again, but his coordination was all fucked up.

“W̵h̷e̴r̷e̴ ̷i̸s̵ ̶t̶h̴e̷ ̴s̷u̵s̴p̶e̸c̸t̴?̶”

“Oh, fuck the suspect. Somebody else will get him. I’m more worried about you! Jesus Christ, Connor. What do I keep telling you about running off? What if I hadn’t gotten here, or what if he’d fucking gotten you with that thing sooner?” Connor didn’t answer, just blinked at him slowly. Hank rubbed his face and shook his head. “Shit I thought you’d died…”

The field technician that the DPD’d hired couldn’t do fuck all, and Hank had to do his best not to punch him. The guy’d apparently worked at fucking CyberLife, but his whole shtick had apparently been just replacing whatever broke, not repairing the broken parts. Not that Connor had even let the guy try.

“N̸o̶.̷” Connor’s head jerked to the left hard, and Hank thought maybe he’d tried to shake his head. “N̸o̶.̷”

“Connor, he’s not a bad guy. He’s here to help! Fuck. Just stay still and let him work!” Hank didn’t understand how someone so smart could be so fucking dumb. If Hank’d been any less freaked out, any less worried, maybe he wouldn’t have snapped, but he was fucking terrified. Hank grabbed him by the shoulders, and Connor smacked him in the head so hard he saw spots. He rubbed his cheek. “Ow! Fuck! What the hell?” Connor looked pretty fucking shocked too. He still tried to get up and move, but Hank approached him again. He moved slowly, and all he did was rub the kid’s back.

“I̷̮̭̪͋̔͐͜'̴̳̳͊m̶̪͂̆̈́̆ ̸͖̦͇͖̈́s̷̺̭̖̽͐̈́̃ͅo̸͈̚r̶̬̭̉̆̉r̷̼̳͑̈́͊͝y̶̢͕̑̓”

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay. Relax. You’re okay.” He really hoped he wasn’t a liar. It was scary watching Connor trying and failing to move, and hearing his voice so distorted. For a while there he hadn’t been moving. What if something was broken? Or he was stuck like that? Connor would hate it.

Connor looked at Hank for a while, then blinked a few times and nodded. Sort of.

Hank sighed in relief and held Connor’s hand while the tech started checking shit with wires and some sort of meter.

“It looks like they modded the Taser or something. It usually takes more amps to cause this kind of malfunction. Normally first thing I’d do is shut it down…” The tech said.

Hank punched him in gut.

“C’mon, Connor. This fucker’s useless.”


End file.
